The Last Exile
by Sydney Andrews
Summary: Chapters 22 to 27, all new. Enjoy! With Love from Sydney.
1. Teaser

* * *

**Teaser – Zion. circa2219. Twenty years after the War ended.**

_"…and in that critical moment, she stared defiantly, uncompromisingly, into the eyes of the Beast – and it stared back. It stared back… and for an instant… the Monster hesitated. It was that hesitation, that brief syllable of time that meant Neo's life. He is alive today because Trinity confronted the Great Evil – she challenged the fiery rubies encrusted in hard steel without fear … and she won." _

This is the first version of the story I ever heard, and it's still my favorite. But I must inform the reader that it is _probably_ not historically accurate. Firstly, by my mother's own admission, she was "absolutely terrified by that sentinel", and you would "have to be crazy, or Morpheus, or both, not to be". Moreover, she still holds to this day that the "Monster" hadn't hesitated, but had rather paused to scan the core for its intended victims.

Nevertheless, Morpheus is still adamant that he'd seen the "Squid-like Beast" falter just long enough for my father to reach the Exit. "A moment longer, and the EMP burst would have killed him". Absolutely captivated, I memorized the story word for word by age 6, and I can tell you that not a syllable of it has changed in the past 12 years. And I wouldn't ever want it to.

From as early on as I can remember, I vehemently rejected my mother's rather anti-climactic annotations to all of Morpheus' stories. I remember Dad would smile through the arguments I had with her at bedtime. And the argument was always the same. I wouldn't go to bed until she told the story "_properly"_. Invariably, the end result was her telling the story how she remembered it, interrupted by my _correcting_ her all the way through.

For reasons that are plainly obvious, I have developed a keen interest in the History of the Resistance. In particular, there is a great oral tradition that has been preserved by the generation that came before me, which I would like to honor. In addition, the many historic documents, including books, photographs, interviews, ships' logs, and newswire articles tell their own stories about the Great War, and the lives of those who fought it. As one may imagine, much of the information is redundant, or contradictory, and much is still left to speculation.

Of course, the most tragic fact of my life is I have never _seen_ the Matrix. I've never seen my father stop bullets in midair, and I've never seen him fly. And I have never seen my mother dodge head-on traffic while straddling a motorcycle. But I've heard many versions of these stories, each with their own _unique_ set of details. For instance, I recently heard an argument break out among some workers in the dock regarding the _type_ of motorcycle my mother used while saving the Keymaker from deletion. To satisfy any curiosity on the part of my readers, I will tell you that my mother reluctantly admitted to me (with a stifled flicker of mischief on her face) that she is "quite certain it was a black Ducati". But this, of course, is off the point.

It is not my intention, reader, to merely report the _facts_ of the War. Rather, this is a tribute to the lives of my parents, and to those who fought beside them. It is a story of great feats of bravery and huge leaps of faith. But most of all, it is a love story. Not just the love between two people, but also the love that binds together a community, and the love that can reunite two great races, torn apart by generations of war. I do not intend to tell the story exactly the way it _happened_, but rather the way it is _remembered_, and the way it is _felt_ in the hearts of our people.

Aurora-Eon of Zion, circa2219


	2. CHAPTER ONE

**_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the Teaser - it made me happy to see that some of you enjoyed it. This is the first draft of Chapter One - I reserve the right to change it, but I don't think it will change much. _**

**_When you start this chapter, you may feel a bit lost at first, but please stick with it - (trust me I know what I'm doing!). Enjoy!_**

**_

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_**

**_Prologue to Chapter One-  
_****_Zion. circa2219._**

_TRINITY: _Hello, Neo.  
_NEO:_ How did you know that --  
_TRINITY: _I know a lot about you. I've been wanting to meet you for some time.  
_NEO:_ Who are you?  
_TRINITY: _My name is Trinity.  
_NEO:_ Trinity? _The_ Trinity? The Trinity that cracked the I.R.S. Kansas City D-Base?  
_TRINITY:_That was a long time ago.  
_NEO:_ Gee-zus.  
_TRINITY: _What?  
_NEO:_ I just thought... you were a guy.  
_TRINITY: _Most guys do.  
_NEO:_Do you want to go somewhere and talk?  
_TRINITY: _No. It's safe here and I don't have much time.  
_NEO:_That was you on the board tonight. That was your note, wasn't it?  
_TRINITY: _I had to gamble that you would see and _they_ wouldn't.  
_NEO:_Who wouldn't?  
_TRINITY:_I can't explain everything to you. I'm sure that it's all going to seem very strange, but I brought you here to warn you, Neo. You are in alot of danger.  
_NEO:_ What? Why?  
_TRINITY: _They're watching you. Something happened and they found out about you. Normally, if our target is exposed we let it go. But this time, we can't do that.  
_NEO:_I don't understand --  
_TRINITY: _You came here because you wanted to know the answer to a hacker's question.  
_NEO:_ The Matrix. What is the Matrix?  
_TRINITY: _Twelve years ago I met a man, a great man, who said that no one could be told the answer to that question. That they had to see it, to believe it. He told me that no one should look for the answer unless they have to because once you see it, everything changes. Your life and the world you live in will never be the same. It's as if you wake up one morning and the sky is falling. The truth is out there, Neo. It's looking for you and it will find you, if you want it to. That's all I can tell you right now. Good-bye, Neo. And good luck.  
_NEO: _Wait. Who was it? Who was the man?  
_TRINITY: _You know who.

* * *

I wanted to begin our story, reader, with a _legitimate_ version of the very famous conversation that my parents had when they first met. Unfortunately, no _official_ record exists of the dialogue that passed between them that night. Therefore, I have had to compromise by using an… _alternative_ source. 

What you just read is the script from my grade 4 class's production of _"The Freeing of the One". _

And yes, reader. I _did_ play the role of Trinity. I was only ten years old at the time, so Niobe helped me make a costume from the shiny black rubber that ship-builders use for insulation.

"It's very good, Niobe. But I don't recall _ever_ wearing a _cape_." My mother's cool comment to her friend after the play couldn't mask her visible discomfort. You see, reader, nobody had actually _told_ my mother what the play was going to be _about_. If anyone had, we all know she wouldn't have come.

But to her credit, she did sit through the performance (with a slightly mortified expression plastered on her face). I suppose it didn't help that the audience would stand and applaud whenever I jumped through a window or scorpion-kicked an Agent, all the while (masterfully) delivering classic 'Trinity-coined phrases' such as "dodge _this_".

Clearly, the story of "The Freeing of the One" has reached a legendary status in our society. Everyone knows the story, or _thinks_ they know the story, and everyone has their favourite version of events. Still, the only assurance that I can give you that the script I have presented here is in fact accurate, is my father's rather dismissive affirmation that the conversation "went something like that".

My mother wasn't much help in unraveling the mystery, either. As predicted, she used her most hackneyed cop-out "I don't really remember, Rorie." Trust me, reader. My mother is a remarkable woman in that she forgets _nothing_.

It is acutely frustrating, of course, to have to rely on second-hand information when you are so close to the s_ource_. Apparently, unmasking the truth about a _legend_ is difficult, _even_ if you are the offspring of said legend's living heroes _(go figure)._

At this point, perhaps I owe the reader a clarification. As I have already suggested, it is not my intention to _replace_ our great legends with an objective, factual truth. Indeed, the very purpose of this documentary-of-sorts is to preserve the present richness and vitality of the stories. That being said, I also feel an obligation to preserve as much _history_ as possible - that is, to _supplement _the stories with as many residual facts as I am able to discover and record. The result, I hope, will be something of a mosaic.

At least, I _thought_ this is what I wanted to do. However, it didn't take long for me to begin to question the wisdom of my methods.

You see, in beginning my research, I invested much time in studying what can arguably be called the Nebuchadnezzar's most famous mission: ie, _"The Freeing of the One"._ This included many long hours of meticulously extracting data from the damaged computer-chips and charred hard-drives that were found at the site of the ruined ship. Morpheus had saved everything the recovery-teams found for sentimental value, but nobody thought that any of the hardware was salvageable. People give up too easily.

For many days I didn't find anything of interest, and it was against the advice of my parents and my friends that I continued with the work. Finally, I discovered what I had been looking for on a small back-up drive, tossed into a box full of other junk, untouched for over twenty years. And what I found, dear reader, was not so much a reward for my efforts, but a punishment. Indeed, after reading document 1.03.11/99, I almost wished I had never gone searching for answers in the first place:

* * *

"How could you have _written_ this, Mother! Does _Morpheus_ know about this? _Does_ _Dad_?" 

My mother's complexion changed color several times before she could even move. She just stared at the computer screen, speechless, her mouth ajar. She then went to the door of my room, closed it, and turned to address me in a calm, low voice.

"Where did you _find_ that?"

"In the memory chips that you told me not to 'waste my time with'. Now I know why you didn't want me to look through them… _Gasp!_ … _What would Zion think?_ What's next, mother? Maybe you were actually working with Cyph- "

"_Aurora._"

I immediately stopped. My mother very seldom used my _real_ name. Dark brown met icy blue as our eyes joined and locked. Feeling betrayed, feeling that she _owed_ me some sort of explanation, I wasn't about to back down. Not this time.

"_You don't know what you're talking about._" My mother ran her hands through her long, wavy, black hair. She walked the length of my room and sat on my bed. "I never sent it, Rorie."

A long silence passed as I decided whether or not I believed her. I did.

"But why? Why would you even _think_…"

My mother sighed in exasperation. Her eyes then wandered around the room, seemingly looking for answers on the rough granite walls that surrounded us. It was a few moments before she finally spoke.

"Come here." She gestured for me to join her on the bed.

I got up from the desk, and sat next to her. When she turned to look at me, her expression was serious, but her eyes were soft.

"Believe it or not, Rorie... Your father wasn't _always_ the One. We didn't just… stumble upon him one day flying around and destroying agents. And, for that matter, Morpheus wasn't always wise, either. He _didn't_ have all the answers. And _your mother_… well, your mother wasn't always _right_. And she wasn't always _brave_. Things were much more _complicated_ than that."

"I know." She hadn't really answered my question. "I know that. But…" I was unsure how to continue.

"Yes?"

"… but you told me that you… _loved_ him. You told me you loved Dad even before you met him. Then why…"

"That's exactly _why_." My mother shook her head and smiled wryly to herself, her voice a mere whisper. "I loved him. And I was too much of a coward to let Morpheus risk his life. Not for a war, not for an Oracle, not for Zion, not for _anything_. And if I didn't respect the _hell_ out of Morpheus - I would have sent it. I would have sent it in a second."

**_

* * *

_****_CHAPTER 1-  
_****_NEBUCHADNEZZAR. circa2199._**

Wrapped tightly in a blanket in the Operator's chair, legs folded up against her chest, Trinity watches the drizzling green code. The eerie glow from the screen is giving her a headache. No, not the screen. Neo. Neo is giving her a headache. Again.

"Happy Birthday, love the gang at Metacortex." It is a mumble under her breath. _It sure was nice for all of them to get him a cake… albeit two days late. _

Trinity can't help but roll her eyes at the screen.

_Oh, strike two for the stupid-but-attractive "Barbara from management". Neo doesn't like Black Forest cake… because he hates cherries. The guy takes them off his sundays and picks them out of his fruit salads. But you don't care, do you? You lost the rock-paper-scissors battle with "Irving from accounting", so you had to run out for the cake. Two days late. _

_You know, if Agents show up to kill Neo, I hope you get caught in a cross-fire._

Trinity frowns. And sighs.

_If I could, I'd order him a cake myself… just hack into a bakery database, and Voila! Morpheus would kill me… but how would he ever find out? I'll bet Neo would like a bunt cake. A marble bunt. With icing-sugar sprinkled on top. God, it's the least we could do for the poor guy. _

She suddenly feels sick. _Because_ _we're going to kill him…if the Agents don't first._

"Ouch. Company birthday party. Poor Mr. Anderson."

Trinity looks up, startled.

Tank smiles kindly at his friend. "You want a re-fill?"

"Yes. I'm freezing." Trinity gulps down the cold water in the mug she is holding, and then hands it to Tank, who has a thermos of freshly boiled water. Trinity wasn't thirsty, but the hot mug kept her hands warm during long shifts in the Operator's chair. And lately, she had been doing many long shifts. Double shifts. Sometimes more.

Trinity's eyes return to the screen, and she suddenly looks very depressed. "So, he's 37."

Tank just looks at her. He had heard that the new Target was old, but Christ.

"He's 37." She repeats herself, almost in a whisper. _We're going to kill him. Cypher is right._

Tank knows what she's thinking. He knows because that's what everyone was thinking, but nobody would say it. At least, not to Trinity. And certainly, not to Morpheus.

"Morpheus believes that…"

"Yes. I know." Trinity cuts him off, feeling frustrated.

Tank was now feeding her back her own lines. _Morpheus believes he is the One. _She had fed that line to Cypher, Tank, Mouse… but every time she said those words they left a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth. Empty words. They meant nothing to her, they meant nothing to the crew. And they wouldn't mean anything to Neo.

"Look, you wanna watch him? I'm exhausted."

"Hey, you were taking my shift anyway."

Trinity gets up and walks back to her room briskly. She throws her blanket onto the bed, and yanks off her boots and slips under the covers, pulling them tightly around her. She is freezing, but it isn't the cold that is bothering her. It's Neo. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about him. The quiet, lonely, lactose-intolerant computer-programmer from Metacortex.

Her voice is a faint whisper in the dark room. "Come on, Trinity. You're s_tronger_ than this. You're _smarter_ than this. You don't even _know_ him."

But that wasn't true. She _did_ know him. That was precisely the problem. For two long months she had watched him from the monitors in the Neb, and from street corners and neighbouring apartments in the Matrix. She'd read his programs, and followed his hacks. She'd even stolen copies of his medical files, dental records, and high-school report cards. Oh, yes, she'd been _very_ busy. After all, First-Officer Trinity never half-asses _anything_.

In truth, for all of her efforts, Trinity had discovered that Thomas Anderson was completely… _unremarkable_ in almost every possible way. His programming skills were, on occasion, _decent_. And his hacking skills were _above average_. _Sometimes_ _Good_. What she most liked was his _style_, though. Very elegant. Very clean. Like his personality. Quiet and subtle. But strong.

Suddenly, curled in a ball in her bed, Trinity is overcome with an impending sense of doom. It is a familiar feeling these days. She gets up and switches on her computer.

"What the hell am I going to do? What the _hell_ am I going to do?" Trinity mumbles to the darkness and she opens a password-protected file. Her eyes scan the dreaded letter that she'd written two days earlier._

* * *

_

_1.03.11/99_

MATRIX DATE: MARCH 11, 1999.  
TO: JASON LOCK, FLEET COMMANDER  
FIRST OFFICER'S REPORT.NEBUCHADNEZZAR  
CONTENTS ARE ENCRYPTED AND URGENT.

Sir,

SEE ATTACHED THE FILES OF THE TARGET THAT CAPTAIN MORPHEUS IS PURSUING, SCREEN NAME: NEO. CLEARLY, THIS TARGET IS NOT A LEGITIMATE OPTION. AGENTS HAVE IDENTIFIED HIM AS OUR PRESENT OBJECTIVE, MAKING THE OPERATION EXTREMELY RISKY.

HE POSSESSES NO SPECIAL TRAITS THAT WOULD MAKE THE RISK OF PURSUING HIS FREEDOM WORTHWHILE. STILL, OUR ORDERS REMAIN TO FOLLOW THROUGH.

ALTHOUGH CAPTAIN MORPHEUS' JUDGEMENT IN SUCH MATTERS HAS BEEN NOTHING LESS THAN EXCELLENT IN THE PAST, IT IS MY BELIEF THAT IN THE PRESENT CIRCUMSTANCE, HE IS PLACING THIS CREW AT GREAT RISK IN ORDER TO PURSUE A PERSONAL AGENDA. IT IS IMMORAL, IRRESPONSIBLE, RECKLESS BEHAVIOUR, UNFITTING A CAPTAIN OF THE RESISTANCE.

I HAVE CLEARLY EXPRESSED MY JUDGEMENT, AND HAVE BEEN IGNORED.

SIR, I RECOMMEND THAT THE NEB BE CALLED BACK TO ZION AND THE COUNCIL BEGIN AN INVESTIGATION INTO THIS MATTER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

TRINITY, FIRST SENIOR OFFICER, NEBUCHADNEZZAR  
circa2199

* * *

Trinity regards the letter with a disgusted expression on her face. _Lock would eat this up with a spoon. He'd probably promote me the Section Chief, the anal bastard. _

But she knows she won't send it. She can't. Trinity doesn't even know what possessed her to write it in the first place. She had just panicked. She had lost her nerve, and, feeling trapped, she'd panicked. Hell, she is still panicking. Her chest feels tight and her palms are sweaty.

_Neo is going to die and there is nothing I can do to stop it. _

She's practically nauseous. "Shit."

Trinity runs her hands through her short, greasy hair, and grips it tightly in two fists. Yes, she's panicking… but more than that, she is angry. She's angry with Morpheus, and she'd _been_ angry with Morpheus for a long time.

_You made a mess of things with Niobe and Ghost… and now you're making a mess of things with Neo. Is it worth it, Morpheus? Is it worth your life? Our crew's life? My life? …What about Neo's? _

In truth, Trinity was prepared to risk her life for Morpheus. Not for the Prophecy, but for Morpheus. They had been to hell and back together, and she _belonged_ on this ship. She knew that. She'd made her choice a long time ago. They had all made their choices.

_The problem… is that Neo doesn't have a choice_. _He can't dodge a bullet that he doesn't see coming. _

Aggravated, she shuts off the computer, yanks out the memory chip from the hard drive, and examines it.

"Neo is Morpheus' pawn, and Morpheus is the Oracle's pawn." Trinity, leaning back in her chair, again appeals to the wisdom of the dark room. "And who is the Oracle?"

_Perhaps she's the machine's goddamned pawn. _Trinity didn't trust the woman. Never had. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were all being manipulated; the idea that this mysterious woman's Purpose was to guide humanity to redemption was ludicrous. It seemed much more likely that she was another type of control. A false prophet, so to speak.

_Well, false or not, she's Morpheus' prophet. So, let Morpheus fall in love with Neo. I'm not searching for a saviour, and I'm not searching for a lover. Neo isn't the answer to my goddamned prayers. That will be one less thing on the guy's shoulders. If he lives. Which he won't._

"This is _your_ show, Morpheus." Trinity takes the memory chip and indiscriminately tosses it into a drawer of her desk.

_Let Neo's death be on your head._

* * *

_**Please read and review - chapter 2 will come, and continue along the same lines. up asap**_

**_Oh, some studious fans will recognize that thedialogue which opened this chapter (the grade 4play!) was actually taken from the original, unedited Matrix script. I think of that as a nod to the Wachowski's, particularly for Matrix1, which was (as we all know, lack of nudity or not), the best of the 3 films._**

**_While on the subject, I have read some other fics here and see that it is customary to give credit to the creators of the Matix for the concept and characters. Yes, of course. They are not mine. _**

**_Oh... but (as you may have realized), Rorie is my creation. I hope you like her! Granted, she can be kinda "uppidy" at times, but, she IS THE DAUGHTER OF LIVING GODS, so let's try and give her a break! _**

**_Lol - please review, I want to know what you all think! Kristen_**


	3. CHAPTER TWO

**_Okay, here's a short little (fun) chapter 2... it came to me while re-reading the first chapter and deciding that the birthday cake prospect was too cute to resist! I'm trying to keep this light, Ch1 was a bit dark._****_

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_**

**_CHAPTER 2-  
THE MATRIX. MARCH 27th, 1999. _**

Briefcase and newspaper in hand, Thomas Anderson struggles to unlock the door to his small, cramped apartment. He jiggles the key for a few moments, and pushes. Jiggle. Push. Jiggle. _Goddammit_. Suddenly, the door flies open and Tom awkwardly stumbles into the room. Several sections of the newspaper scatter across the floor.

Not bothering to pick them up, Tom just stands there, defeated.

_I don't even read the paper._

He walks right over the mess and tosses his briefcase onto the couch. Eyes wander lazily around the room as he moodily shuffles off his suit-jacket. Suddenly. He freezes. And his heart skips a beat.

_The ghost was here today. _

Curiously, he lifts the black, elbow-length leather gloves off his desk. They're still warm. He rushes back to the door, and checks the hallway, then, scowling, he rushes to the window. Nothing.

Tom paces around the rest of his room, searching for anything out of place. As usual, he finds nothing of interest missing or moved. Typical of his ghost.

_The door was locked. The window was nailed shut. Well, shit. I don't have a chimney. So how the hell do you get in and out? _

The hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. The paranoia is suddenly back, and Tom, frozen where he stands, nearly stops breathing as he regards the eerily silent room, listening. As usual, nothing.

_One day, I'm going to catch you. _

The paranoia had started months ago, as simply a vague _feeling_. An instinct, telling him that he was being watched, followed… studied like a goldfish in a bowl by someone that he couldn't see… but could always _sense_.

Naturally, his first inclination was to think that he was being trailed by the police. But it didn't take him long to decide that this wasn't the case. It just didn't make any sense. No, this stalker was too _peculiar_ to be law-enforcement.

And the last time he checked, it wasn't the M.O. of the FBI to water their suspect's dying plants. Or pick their clothes up off the floor. _But maybe I'm just imagining it_, is what he had thought at the time.

But, after finding a mysterious slice of cake in his fridge two weeks ago, Tom Anderson became sure that he wasn't _inventing_ any of this stuff.

_Okay, Marble Bunt Fairy, what do you want from me? _

The next day, Tom, feeling uncharacteristically witty, had left a plate of chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk on the counter. Which, of course, were left untouched. _However_… and he couldn't be _certain_ of this… Tom Anderson was very suspicious that one of his _beers_ had gone missing from the fridge.

But for the past two weeks or so, things had been very _quiet_. The prickling feeling of being watched had suddenly gone. With each passing day, Tom found everything in his apartment (including the contents of his refrigerator) exactly as he'd left them. And his plants, unquenched by their green-thumbed benefactor, were nearly dead again. _He_ was nearly dead again.

Indeed, the past two weeks were not the welcome respite from a constant, sickening state of fear and suspicion that one might expect. In truth, after finally being left alone, Tom Anderson felt… well, he felt exactly that. _Alone_. Again. And the return of that horrible feeling he'd felt his entire life was almost more than he could bear.

It was pathetic, really. The only person who knew _anything_ about him at all was probably this anonymous, leather-clad stalker. To everyone else, Tom knew he was… _invisible_. He just didn't exist. And when it came to most people, he didn't _want_ to exist, either.

Besides, becoming closer to people just made his chronic feeling of isolation stronger. Of course, when he was younger, and more optimistic, he had tried desperately to be sociable, likable, _lovable_. But every time he attempted to befriend a colleague, or love a woman, he'd end up feeling empty. Every time, he just couldn't feel _enough_.

Tom had more of a connection with the poor birds that would get trapped in his office building's lobby in the summertime. Over and over… they'd frantically, desperately fly into the glass. They could see through the window, see _freedom_. But with each hopeless, panicked attempt, they'd thump up against an invisible barrier. Eventually, they'd either give up, or they'd die trying to get out. Gradually, quietly, Tom is giving up.

He turns his attention back to the gloves and quirks an eyebrow_. So you clean and bake like my mother…but dress like a stripper… so. Who are you?_

The unlikely riddle puts an intrigued smirk on his face, while the idea of the gloves' owner walking around his apartment sends an eerie shiver down his back. He imagines her eyes traveling over his small living space, her slender fingers moving through his things. It is chilling. But, strangely, in this moment, he likes it.

The familiar presence back in his life is welcome. Almost a relief (he was beginning to feel abandoned). In truth, the idea that someone _knows_ him, or, at least, wants to know _about_ him… is comforting. He just wishes he could see her face. He wonders what she's doing in his apartment. What she's _looking_ for. And why she keeps coming back. He smiles.

_Maybe she came back to check on the plants. _

Tom shakes his head, as he examines the dry dust in the pots under his bookshelf.

_Nope, dead. _

He feels guilty.

_She is probably disappointed with me. _

Tom Anderson is suddenly stricken with how ridiculous he's being.

_This is not a relationship, you moron. You're fucked up… and you're pathetic. And you should change the locks again. _

He feels his throat constrict as a wave of loneliness passes over him. Frustrated, he rolls the gloves into a ball and pitches them into the trash.

_What do you want from me, Bunt Fairy_? _What are you looking for? _

* * *

_**Thanks for great reviews of Ch1... I'm soglad that pple like Rorie! She will be back really soon (I have some REALLY fun ideas for her character, and for some fun "what Zion doesn't know about the myth" stuff...!). **_

_**Teasers:**_

_**The next 2 or 3 chapeters will be some nice Neo/Trin stuff (because M1 didn't really focus enough on them I think!)... and some sticky Morpheus/Trin stuff (she confronts Morpheus about his "savior hunting", while he confronts her abouther own lack of professionalism... !).**_

_**After that, my time line will be at the end of M1. At this point I will move into somejuicy "trinity's past with ghost" stuff---andI promise this will bea very fresh take on it !**_

**_Cheers for now! Kristen_**


	4. CHAPTER THREE

Okay, everyone... I know this update is _long_ overdue, but I've been doing alot of writing (Chapter 4 is also up so this is a double posting!).

Here is the promised Trin/Morpheus "catfight"... it gets sticky, but I hope that you all can still feel the love ;)  
Please read, review... I love reviews !

More soon (see a teaser for ch. 5 at the end of chapter 4!)

Cheers,

Kristen

* * *

**_CHAPTER 3-  
NEUBUCHADEZZAR. circa 2199._**

"Well, what did you expect, Morpheus?" Trinity practically slams the door behind her as she marches into the Captain's office. She finds Morpheus pacing back and forth, an expression of worried concentration on his face. Deep in thought. Or prayer. He seems not to hear her question.

"It's procedure to let him rest for at least…"

"I am aware." Morpheus abruptly cuts her off. '_Procedure.' How small-minded to consider procedure, when we are so close to the End._

Trinity exhales sharply in exasperation. It is a miracle Neo is alive at all, having survived two weeks of physical reconstruction. His progress had been encouraging. But he'd only been conscious for _ten minutes_ when Morpheus brought him to the Core.

_He should never have been jacked into the Construct like that._

It took thirty minutes for his neural patterns to stabilize. And now he is passed out, with a fever. It's classic Rejection Syndrome. She'd seen it before. So had Morpheus.

"You can't possibly think that he will be able to start _tomorrow_…"

"Yes, I do. He'll be fine." Morpheus turns his back to her, clasping his hands behind him. "Now, if you don't have anything else to _add_, Trinity…"

Trinity just stares at the metal plug in the back of his head, incredulous.

_Did he just… dismiss me?_

She can't believe that he's speaking to her like this.

In the past, Trinity had always found such comfort in Morpheus' deep, baritone voice. It was the sound of certainty, continuity. It was the sound of home. When she was young, she would always sit up with Morpheus during the night shifts. And while they watched the green code pour down the screens, she'd listen to him tell her stories of all the great, brave fighters of the Resistance. Before long, she'd memorized them all. That voice had captivated her for so many years.

But now, with his back contemptuously turned from her, Morpheus' voice drips with _condescension. _And Trinity, for the first time in many years, finds herself without words. She looks down at her hands, searching for something to say to him. Searching for the Trinity that she just lost… that somehow, she has been losing for weeks now. She notices her skin is wrinkled at the fingertips, waterlogged from holding a cold, wet cloth on Neo's forehead for the past half-hour. Her face burns.

_How dare you. Dismiss me. You will not. _

Her eyes and chin rise to his level. She consciously corrects her posture, standing as tall as she can, shoulders back.

"I do have something to _add_. Respectfully, sir. There's a reason we have rules. Jacking Neo in so soon was irresponsible. He's _just a man_…"

"You have never believed in the Prophecy, Trinity. I have learned to accept that. My beliefs do not require your _approval_. However, as a Captain, I _do_ require my First Officer … to _trust_ me."

Trinity scowls, shocked that he'd resort to using his 'Trust Me Speech'. She'd heard him deliver that hackneyed lecture to every new crew member aboard the Neb for the past twelve years. But he'd never given it to her. And now, _especially_ now, she deserved more than that from him.

Trinity walks the length of the room, and firmly plants herself between Morpheus and the wall, forcing him to look at her. He sees that her eyes are hurt, and angry. But they're also open. Open, and honest, and clear. Very few men would ever earn her sincere, unguarded eyes. He'd earned them long ago. _And some things will never change. _

"What you're asking for isn't _Trust, _Morpheus. What you're asking for… is blind faith. Obedience without question. Compliance without independent thought. The very thing that the Matrix represents, you give to the Oracle and ask for from your officers."

"This is an _army_, and…"

"_No. _This is a_ family. _Or, at least, it used to be."

"Are you accusing me of something, Trinity?"

"No. I'm _reminding_ you." Trinity's eyes plead with him. "We lost everything, Morpheus. We both did. Now, slowly, we're losing each other. For what?"

"For This! The End - For Neo, For RightNow!"

"For a dream."

"Well, why don't you just leave if you…"

"Because, Morpheus_, I'm not Niobe!_ I'm still here. Goddammit, I'm still right here!"

Shocked by her answer, Morpheus turns his face away. If she were anyone else, he'd order her from the room for a comment like that. But, with Trinity, things are different. When it came to him and Trinity, things were _always_ different. Of all the Targets he'd unplugged over the years, she was his favourite, right from the start. And he knew that she felt the same way about him. Niobe never understood it - she even resented it at times, realizing that by the age of twenty-one, Trinity had all but formally taken over her duties as First Officer.

But after Morpheus went to see the Oracle, everything changed. Even his relationship with Trinity soured, and he always wondered why she didn't choose to leave with the others. But now, as he looks into her face, stricken with the idea of losing her, he realizes that he knows the answer to that question.

_She stayed for me. Somehow, she knew that I couldn't do this alone._

Trinity's had held him together for years with that unwavering strength, that solid nerve that somehow, she was able to infuse into those around her. Osmotically. Magically.And now, in spite of everything, she is still doing it. Even though it is tearing her apart, she's still standing beside him.

_Dear Trinity. _

Suddenly overwhelmed, Morpheus closes his eyes and grips his hands into two tight fists.

_Nevermind. It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore._ _Everything will have been worth it when the War ends. I just have to be strong enough to see it through. _

"Neo. Is. The. One. …"

"_Then_… he's going to need his rest."

"I'm doing this for _him, _Trinity…"

"Oh, Bullshit. You're doing it for yourself."

"What?"

"You're so _desperate_ to be right, so _desperate_ for a Saviour, that you'll gamble his life without thinking _twice._ You don't care about _him_…"

"He _chose_ to know the truth!"

"He _chose_? Neo. _Chose?_ To know the truth." Trinity seems to swirl the words around in her mouth. Tasting them. Scrutinizing them with a repugnant expression on her face. "I'm curious. Morpheus. Did you tell him that _nobody_ over the age of thirty has _ever_ been pulled from the sewers alive?"

Morpheus is silent. _It_ _is irrelevant. Neo is different._

"Did you tell Neo that everyone over the age of _twenty-five_ who has ever _survived_ being unplugged has either killed themselves… or gone insane? …_Hm_?" Trinity's voice becomes a dark whisper as she hisses at him, "did you tell him what the asylums are like in Zion? That some patients, _mad_ for freedom, repeatedly slam their heads against the bars?"

"Stop it, no more!" _Cypher was right. She isn't thinking clearly. _"I shouldn't have let you watch him so often."

"I was doing my job."

"Yes. You've been very busy. Leaving things in his apartment, I hear."

"I left the gloves accidentally. It was a stupid mistake and I…"

"I'm not talking about the_ gloves, _Trinity."

She freezes. Checkmate. _How could he have found out? Tank wouldn't have told him_. She feels sick. To her knowledge, nobody else knew. _Shit_. She's horribly embarrassed, and feels utterly ashamed. But she's too angry to submit defeat. Trinity has too much to say. She just _feels_ too much to stop.

"Fine. Morpheus. Next time, _you watch the Target._ Watch him for _two_ _months_ as he struggles to find peace in That Awful Place…"

"Trinity-"

"No, Morpheus- _really_. You watch him as he blindly gropes for something Real… _Anything_ _Real._ Don't you remember what it's like? Don't you? He can sense it - he can sense that there is something more… but it's always _just_ out of reach. Like a moth to the flame of a lantern. Tap… tap… tap… questioningly, naïvely, he taps at the glass. Over and Over..."

"Trinity-"

"_And then,_ _you watch me expose the flame._ If he's God's Moth, his wings won't singe, I say. If he's Magic, then he'll survive. You do that! You just watch me _kill_ him! Then, Morpheus, we will see the strength of your _great_ conviction! ... _Why … Why the hell didn't you watch him if he's so special!"_

Morpheus reaches out, and, taking Trinity by the shoulders, pulls her towards him. She resists him at first, but his strong arms firmly hold her against his chest, waiting for her to calm down. Trembling and emotionally spent, Trinity finally surrenders to the grounding weight of his arms with an exhausted sigh. She rests her head under his chin and claws her fingernails into his sweater.

"Tell me. Morpheus. _You promise me. _That he's going to be all right."

Morpheus relaxes his arms around her delicate frame, and rests a hand on the back of her head. He whispers to her, "He's going to be all right. I promise. _It will all be over soon."_

Trinity shakes her head into his rough sweater. "Jesus Christ. Sometimes I wonder how we can _expect_ God to be on our side. What the _hell_ are we doing?"

"Trinity. This is something _I_ _have to do_. I believe this is… my _Purpose_. This is why I am _here_."

Trinity pulls away from him, realizing the futility of all her efforts. She recognizes his uncompromising, hard, resolute temperament as hers as well. She understands him. Ever since the beginning, she has always understood him, even when nobody else did. More than that, Trinity had always felt that she _belonged_ with him; that whatever Morpheus' Purpose, it was hers to stand beside him. To protect him. To keep him strong.

But now, with Neo… somehow… she feels things are different.

"I know." Trinity silently makes a decision. "_I know."_ There was nothing else to say. "I'm going to go sit with him."

"Wait. I'll sit with him. I'd like to be there when he wakes up. You've made me realize that… there are things that should be said. I'd … _appreciate_ it, Trinity."

Trinity stops on her way to the door of his office, and simply nods. There is an unspoken agreement. She can tell that he understands her as well.

As Trinity leaves the room, her face reveals nothing. Her eyes are stony, professional, and determined. Her steps are swift, sure, and strong. She walks with a Purpose.

* * *


	5. CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

_**CHAPTER 4- (cont'd from Ch. 3)**_

"Cypher!"

Trinity gasps with surprise as she turns from closing the door to Morpheus' office. Her heart sinks in her chest as she realizes that he's been standing outside the door.

"Are you okay? Do you need to talk?"

Trinity stares straight at him. Right into his rodent's eyes. They twinkle. She knows he overheard everything.

"I'm fine."

"You know, Trin. I can understand why you're upset with him. I'd just like you to know, that the entire crew is behind you on this one. One hundred percent."

Trinity shoots him a dangerous look. "The crew will follow Morpheus' orders. And so will I. Nothing has changed, Cypher."

"You'vechanged."

"No, I haven't. _You have_."

She searches his face for any hint of the person she'd always hoped Cypher would become. For nine years now she'd waited. Still, nothing.

"Hey, don't get on my back about it, Trinity. I tried to tell you. You know you should report him-"

"_Cypher._"

"Right. Sorry. _Of course_ you would never do that. I'm sure the thought hasn't even crossed your mind. Still, I'll give you credit for that great speech you gave him about _morals_ and _compassion_. You sure are doing a good job of looking out for Neo."

Sufficiently annoyed, Trinity turns to walk away from him, but Cypher catches her by the arm.

"Kinda funny you didn't visit him _once_ in the med bay, though. I mean, if you're so _concerned_ about him, why wasn't it _you_ sitting up with him every night?"

"Don't touch me." Trinity forcefully shoves him away from her, using every bit of her self control not to spit in his face. But as much as she wants to get away from him, something keeps her pinned against the wall. She feels a weight in the pit of her stomach.

"You're such a hypocrite, Trinity. The _only_ reason you're upset with Morpheus is because he took your little goldfish away. It was fun to _watch_ him, to _obsess_ over him on those screens, wasn't it? But now that he's _here_… suddenly you're not in _control_ anymore. And that's the only way you like it. I _know_ you."

She glares at him. _You don't know anything. _But still, Trinity can't seem to walk away.

"I _know_, for instance, that you won't go to him. I know because I've seen this all before. Your doormat Ghost finally got fed-up and left, and so will this one..."

Before Trinity can stop herself, she hears the sharp slap of her hand against his face. Her palm stings and Cypher looks at her in shock. For a moment, neither says anything.

Cypher finally smiles, letting his eyes travel all over her face and chest. "I'm not the one who left, Trinity. _I'm still here._ Think about it."

He then turns and walks down the hallway, leaving Trinity alone, with a sick feeling in her stomach. And it isn't the usual nausea that follows whenever Cypher looks at her like that. His words ring in her ears, saturating her, drowning her.

She sighs, and thumps the back of her head against the steel wall a few times.

"Shit. _This is all my fault_."

Indeed. 'Trinity's Youthful Mistake,' is what Niobe used to call the often-troubled Cypher. And, although a younger, more temperamental Trinity sincerely resented any suggestion that she'd made a _mistake_, she knows now that Niobe was right. Cypher was never happy aboard the Nebuchadnezzar.

When she first began studying him in the Matrix, Niobe tried to warn her. "He's too old," she said, leaning over Trinity's shoulder and pointing at the screen. "And look at that _awful_ goatee… _never_ trust a guy with a goatee. Didn't you read my 'Unplugging for Dummies' manual?"

Trinity was irritated by the joke. First of all, she didn't need a _manual_; he wasn't _that_ old. And second of all, he was a damn-good programmer. _And _he was the only Target on the list who had followed all of _her_ hacks. In fact, Cypher had studied Trinity's history extensively, and had spent years trying to contact her…_ The _Trinity. _IRS D- Base Trinity._ Intrigued, and more than a little flattered, she made up her mind. She wanted to meet _this _one.

So, she pushed for Cypher's Freedom, and, despite Niobe's vehement objections, Morpheus trusted the twenty-one-year-old Trinity's judgement. But right from the start, right from the first weeks of Cypher's life on board the ship, Trinity had a gnawing feeling in the back of her mind that perhaps she'd made a mistake.

To say he was horribly miserable would be an understatement. Trinity remembers she had to beg him to get up in the morning to start his training, and every day, he let Morpheus wipe the ground with him. Then, frustrated, Trinity had wiped the ground with him _herself_. That was the first time she ever saw him smile.

"He'll make a good programmer, Trinity. We will leave him in Zion the next time we dock." Morpheus put a hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault. Some people just aren't cut out for it."

"Give him some time, Morpheus. He's still adjusting to…"

"It's _over_."

Trinity glared at Niobe. "No, it's not. Not _yet_." Then, she looked back at Morpheus. "Give me a _chance_. I'll have him kicking _her_ ass in a _month_." She flashes a confident smile at Niobe. "Hell, give me _two_ months and I might even have him kicking _mine_."

Niobe folded her arms and smirked. _Smart-ass._

Morpheus sighed. He knew he was going to get hell for this, but... "Okay. We'll stay out a bit longer than planned. Trinity, you have _two weeks_."

"Sold!" Trinity triumphantly smacked her hands together, and practically skipped towards the door. On her way out of the room, she nudged Niobe's shoulder. "After this, you may want to buy my book: 'Training Newbies for Dummies.'"

"Trinity." Morpheus shot a serious glance at her. "You have a lot to do. I'd get to it if I were you."

Suddenly, the smile vanished from her face. "Of course. Sorry, sir."

Trinity cringes now to remember the hell she'd put Cypher through. To _make_ him achieve what she knew he was capable of. Or, maybe, what she _wanted_ him to be capable of. Partly to impress Morpheus. Party to prove Niobe wrong. But mostly, because she loved a challenge. And Cypher _definitely_ was a challenge.

"Hit me!"

"Jesus Christ, I'm tired!"

"I said… HIT ME!" Trinity kicked him hard against the wall of the dojo, and Cypher collapsed into a heap on the floor, drenched in sweat. He peered up at the woman standing in front of him. She was dressed in a crimson red kimono, her long, raven hair tangled up in chopsticks. _God, she's sexy._

"Cypher- we have _three days left_. At this rate, you'll never be readyyyyyaaaa….!" Trinity's feet flew above her head and she landed flat on her back. Her surprised laughter echoed in the room. "Good." More laughter. "_Very_ Good. If not a bit dirty."

"I _have_ to fight dirty."

Trinity got to her feet, and helped Cypher up. "Yeah, and why's that?"

"Because the fight isn't fair. You have the advantage." Cypher walked over to get two swords from the wall of the dojo. He tossed one at Trinity.

As she snatched it out of the air, she brushed a long strand of hair out of her face. "What advantage?"

"Your outfit, Trin. It's distracting me."

Trinity answered his comment with a completely blank expression… followed by the clever quirk of an eyebrow. She pulled out her phone.

"Trinity… uh, I'm sorry, I…"

She silenced him by raising a hand in the air. She tapped her foot as the phone rang.

"Sparks. Yes…Cypher says he wants to try it with a _blindfold_. Yeah I know, it's a tough exercise, but he _insists_." She winked at Cypher. "Yes, I agree. _He's quite the trooper._"

In truth, Trinity never minded the few, innocent flirtations. As long as he was ready by her deadline; as long as she _won_, nothing else mattered. She was completely committed to the project, and spent every minute of her day with him. By the time the two weeks were up, not only was Cypher _ready_, but he exceeded even Trinity's expectations. She was absolutely thrilled when Morpheus decided to keep him on as part of the crew.

"So… I think _Congratulations_ are in order!" Trinity, full of self-pride, beamed at Niobe.

"Yes. I think so." Niobe raised an eyebrow at Trinity, but then walked right past her, and warmly placed a hand on Cypher's shoulder. "Congratulations, Cypher. Your progress has been very impressive."

"Good teacher." His affectionate eyes wandered over to Trinity.

"Yes." Niobe turned and looked at her overconfident young protégé, and then back at the bedazzled Cypher. She smiled wryly. "She certainly is." A sigh. "Cypher, we'd be very happy to have you continue onboard the Neb. But, just because we've offered, don't feel you have to take it. When we dock, take a look around Zion… and then decide where you feel most comfortable. They're always looking for good programmers, you know."

Trinity remembers glowering at Niobe, wishing she that for _once…_ she'd acknowledge defeat. Little did she know, Niobe was actually trying to do her a _favour_. Indeed, within a few weeks, Trinity found herself irritated with Cypher's constant attention, and began wishing he hadn't accepted Morpheus' apprenticeship in the first place.

_God, I was so stupid. _

Trinity shakes her head as she walks down the corridor and climbs the stairs to the Main Deck. She's grateful that Niobe hadn't stuck around long enough to see how miserable Cypher had become. And, although Trinity wishes every day that he'd just quit, she knows he won't. Indeed, she knows his reason for staying all too well.

Feeling guilty and violated all at the same time, she wanders through the empty Core, absent-mindedly passing her fingers over the old, worn chairs and filthy monitors.

_Tank really should clean these. _

She moodily wipes her hand on her pants, and considers running down to the mess hall to get the bleach. But she quickly does away with the idea, realizing that if she goes down to the Lower Deck, she is sure to run into Cypher, or, possibly worse, Morpheus.

"Ship's too damn small," she mumbles as she adjusts her favourite seat into a reclined position. She glances around the room, making sure she's completely alone, and then gratefully collapses into the chair.

Trinity lies there for a long time, staring at metal hull above her, and finds herself missing Niobe, of all people. She wonders what she's doing. If she's happy.

"You were right, okay?" Trinity concedes to the empty room. Her thoughts drift to Morpheus. "God, I hope you weren't right about _everything_."

* * *

_**Preview for Ch. 5: (I'm not joking here, guys! Who is the Captain's secret love?)**_

"Kiss me Morpheus! Let's do it. Like we've always wanted to. Right here, in the Operator's chair."


	6. CHAPTER FIVE

Hello, Everyone!

This is the prequil to what I like to call the "TRINNEO" chapters... :) you're all in for a treat...

Now, this chapter is long, I realize... and it's a bit "all over the place"... one of my friends called it more of a "gossip column" than an actual chapter! All this to say, Trin is the J-Lo of Zion, and Morpheus is something equivalent to Sean Connery.

Anyhow, I had fun with it, but this collection of little mundane stories is not to be taken "too" seriously. The next chapter is actually complete (and very fun), and will be posted very soon (TRINNEO stuff... _FINALLY_ I know it has been along time coming!) Enjoy- Kristen.

* * *

_CHAPTER 5_

"Hey, pretty lady."

Trinity gasps, and squints up to see Tank standing next to her. She'd been sleeping, but not in _bed_.

"Where the hell am I? What… what time is it?"

"Pretty late… thought you might want to get to _your room_. If not, I can get you a pillow, but you should know you look pretty dumb snoring in this chair."

"… I… I slept through the afternoon?" Trinity squints around the Core, wondering how she'd managed to arrive there, and how long she'd been passed out. The room is fuzzy.

"Yeah. Morpheus told me not to wake you for dinner. He said you deserved a _break_."

"Oh… _no_."

"What?"

"Morpheus." She slaps her hand up against her forehead and scrunches her face, as if wincing in pain. _Now_ she remembers. "Nothing. Nevermind that. How's Neo?"

"Actually, he's fine. He was awake earlier. Looks like we'll be able to start tomorrow after all."

She scowls and stumbles out of the chair, grabbing onto Tank's shoulder for support. "I suppose that's good news." She looks around the room lazily, blinking sleep out of her eyes. "You're operating for him?"

"Yep."

Trinity is silent for a moment, looking worried. "Tank. Please… take care of him. Don't…"

"Give him the usual Baptism-By-Fire?" He grins. "It's Combat Training 101, Trinity. He'll be fine. He's out of the woods."

"Yes, and into the jungle."

"Better than Kansas."

Trinity nods. "Hmmm." She sits on the edge of the chair and places her hands on her knees. "You'd _think_."

Tank looks at her thoughtfully. He was expecting her to be much happier to hear that Neo was finally out of immediate danger. The last two weeks had been a taxing roller-coaster with respect to the new Poddie's health, and Tank watched helplessly as Trinity frowned through the ambiguous medical reports that Dozer made at breakfast. It wasn't often that she ate anything. He doubted she slept much, either.

"Hey." Tank smiled kindly at his friend. "Do you remember what I said about him… after the first time we watched Neo together?"

"Yeah, you said he was _boring_."

"Uh-huh." Tank nudges her shoulder gently. "And then what did _you_ say?"

"Hmmm." She smiles half-heartedly. "I said, he's not boring, Tank… he's _quiet._ There's a difference." She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. "Boring people lack substance. Quiet people are simply _surrounded_ by people who lack substance. I said… he's quiet because, like me, he's too damn smart for Battery Park." She nods. "I said… he's quiet… because he's _stronger_ than they are."

"So?"

She smirks wryly. "So? So…_I don't know_. I'm all out of witty comebacks, Tank. Believe me, I've more than used my quota for today." She shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ears. "What I wouldn't give to relive the last twelve hours as a deaf-mute. I honestly… I don't know what's wrong with me."

Tank hesitates. He has a very strong suspicion of what's _wrong_ with her, and it is quite a list. Ever since she'd begun watching Neo in the Matrix, Trinity had not been herself. Indeed, when Morpheus found her dozing in the Core earlier today, Trinity was supposed to be helping out with a glitch in the long-range scanners. Instead, Tank was covering for her. And it was not the first time. He'd taken all of Trinity's shifts in the med-bay, and had concealed more than a few of her dangerous mistakes in the Matrix. Of course, he didn't mind - she more than compensated for his services by taking most of his shifts at the monitors, but it was not Trinity's wont to be inconsistent in her work, or so careless in the field.

Beyond these superficial observations, however, Tank cannot assume to know Trinity's mind, let alone her _heart_. She is almost as much of a mystery to him now as she was the first day he met her. Indeed, although he'd been Operating for her and Morpheus for the past four years, he found it very difficult to become close to either of them. Morpheus was impersonal, and Trinity was cold. Morpheus was impatient, and Trinity was… _more_ impatient. And certainly, they were both unbearably narcissistic. If fact, it was a joke among the officers that the Captain and his most trusted confidante would rather train sentinels to man the Neb than actually deal with a human crew. Tank found it funny because it was probably true. Trinity and Morpheus worked well together because neither accepted anything short of perfection, a standard that the two of them rarely failed to achieve.

Tank and Dozer came aboard the Neb following Niobe's promotion to Captain of the Logos and her subsequent departure with both Ghost and Sparks to operate the new ship. Niobe's promotion, which seemed to come simultaneously with her affair with Commander Lock, was one of the more volatile scandals to involve the army in some time, and Tank was privy to much of the gossip that surrounded Morpheus and his estranged crew. In fact, before Tank even met Trinity, he'd heard her to be uncommonly brilliant, defiantly impulsive, and often unfriendly. Before long, Tank decided that not only was her reputation accurate, but it seemed to be _proudly_ earned.

Other rumours, however, were much more elaborate, having been forged in the loose and metamorphic web of imagination rather than fact. The result was a collection of speculative stories that were as irresistibly juicy as they were unflattering. Interestingly, the object of most of the gossip was not Niobe, but rather, Trinity. It seemed that the socialites of Zion had tired of the Niobe/ Morpheus break-up and were seeking a more _fresh_ source of drama.

Indeed, Niobe's decision to leave the Neb was hardly a surprise; the once fairy-tale-like romance between the eminent Captain and his beautiful young engineer had been over for nearly a year, and all of Zion knew it. Their awful rows could be heard echoing from their quarters, and there were whispers that Niobe had even forced Morpheus from their room on the Neb, and that he slept in the cockpit. Later Tank would hear from Cypher that this story was, in fact, only _half_ true. Niobe had indeed banished Morpheus from their bed, but it was _Cypher_ who ended up in the cockpit. It seemed that Trinity insisted that the Captain take her room, and Ghost, who wouldn't have her sleeping in the pilot's chair, gave her his. Then Trinity, who couldn't bear to see Ghost suffer, called upon Cypher to give up his bed… as a _personal_ favour to her. "What can I say? The bitch had me wrapped around her pinky-finger," Cypher had explained with a smile. But something about his tone gave Tank the impression that he was dead serious.

And so it was that by the time Niobe left the ship, Zion had exhausted the topic of her infidelity and Morpheus' sleeping arrangements. The more interesting issue, it seemed, was the fact that _Ghost_ was leaving, too, and that Trinity only found out about this at the Council meeting that formally announced the change of arrangements. Tank was at that meeting, and he still cringes when he remembers the look on Trinity's face.

"Excuse me, Councillors," she'd said, rising confidently to her feet. Trinity pushed waves of beautiful long, shiny hair from her face. "I believe there is some mistake. The relocation is slated for Niobe and Sparks _only_…" She searched the room, presumably for Ghost, who was not present.

The silence that followed was thick, and Niobe leaned over to Trinity and whispered something in her ear. Trinity glared disbelief back at her, and shrugged away the hand that Niobe tried to rest on her shoulder. Tank didn't know Trinity then, and knew nothing of Ghost, either, but familiarity is not a prerequisite to understanding what he saw in Trinity's eyes. It was a homogenous mixture of incredulity and humiliation. In an unprecedented breech of protocol, she insolently turned her back to the Elders and walked towards the door, her pale face burning at the cheeks, and her eyes hard as steel.

Those who knew them wondered at Ghost's unexplained decision, and noted that the once inseparable colleagues were suddenly barely on speaking terms. The natural conclusion was that the two of them had secretly been lovers for years until Ghost finally decided to break it off. Of course, Trinity would never comment on the status of their relationship, and Tank would never ask. But if Ghost ever became the topic of conversation on the Neb (and he was often brought up by Cypher), Trinity would fall silent, and, failing a quick change of conversation, abruptly leave the room, all the while glaring at Cypher with an air of contempt.

The day following Trinity's horrible ordeal with the Council, Tank was scheduled to move his things onto the ship, and meet the rest of the crew. On his way to the Dock, however, he overheard another very popular tale which took a completely different (and much less plausible) perspective on the personal life of the Nebuchadnezzar's newly promoted First-Officer. Apparently, there were some in Zion who wondered at Trinity's close relationship with Morpheus _himself_, and cited Trinity as the _real_ reason for Niobe's leaving. It didn't take Tank long to realize that this was certainly one of the most far-fetched stories, and that unfortunately, he was not the _only_ person who had heard it.

As he walked into the Neb's Core for the first time, Trinity's voice echoed off the metal hull:

"Kiss me Morpheus! Let's do it. Like we've _always_ wanted to. Right here, in the Operator's chair."

"Trinity, calm down. I told you, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks."

"Well, don't you find it ridiculous? Niobe, the _Zion-Patron-Saint_, is off with Lock - and for _some_ reason, _I'm_ the tramp! Hell, if we're going to be accused of it, we might as well have some _fun_. There's nothing to lose, right?" Trinity hopped into the chair, and looked at him matter-of-factly. "So, take your pants off. I want to see what I've been missing."

Tank cleared his throat. Trinity peaked over the headrest and flashed him a huge smile. "Oh, you must be the new Operator. I'm Trinity…" She boldly walked up to him, and firmly shook his hand.

Tank just stared at her. Trinity's once angelic, waist-long hair was impossibly short, cut in uneven chunks about one to three inches from her scalp. Her cheeks were flushed, and her face was smudged with engine grease. Beads of sweat glistened like dewdrops on her forehead and chest.

"I read your application, of course." she continued, never taking her eyes from his. Tank nervously glanced over at Morpheus. The Captain's face was contorted into a half-amused, half-apologetic expression.

Trinity folded her arms. "You're a good engineer." It almost sounded like an accusation.

"Yes." Tank finally managed to say.

"Excellent." She nodded. "Then you can help us out. The third and sixth pads are over-performing, and we can't figure out why."

"Oh, Well…"

"Yes. It's quite a problem, because they're both on the port side. So, when we fly, the whole ship tilts to the right. Everything just slides right off the damn tables. Impossible to get anything done." Trinity looked at him seriously for a moment, as if expecting an answer.

Tank just stood there, puzzled.

"A joke, soldier."

"Right." Tank scowled. "All of it, or just the part about things sliding off the tables?"

Trinity simply raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to follow her. "Of course, we compensate for the delta-psi with our starboard pads, but this doesn't completely solve the problem… not in my books, anyway…"

"Trinity," Morpheus interrupted. "I want him back in two hours. In one piece, if you can manage."

"Give him to me all afternoon, and we may be out of Zion by _tonight_… _lovvver_."

Morpheus gave her a tired smile. "Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it? Tank, would you mind? I'm sure you understand that we're eager to get underway. Zion seems much _smaller_ these days."

Tank just nodded, and followed Trinity down to the bowels of the ship, where they spent the next seven hours tweaking it to absolute perfection.

To his surprise, she didn't speak much at all to him after they left Morpheus, preferring rather to work quietly. Even when they took a break for supper, she didn't make any attempt at conversation. She preferred to read over schematics and reports. He never asked her about what had happened in the Council's chambers the day before, or what in God's name had happened to her hair. And he didn't dare speculate about her relationship with Morpheus. But that night, through the thin walls of the hollow ship, he heard her cry. She cried her eyes out.

Back in the present, Tank finds himself walking a very tired Trinity to the ladder leading to the lower deck. "You know," he says to her thoughtfully, "You're allowed to _care_. About Neo, I mean."

"Don't shrink me, Tank." She smiles sadly. "It's a lost cause. I'm beyond your aid." After a long pause, Trinity then asks, "Is _everyone_ asleep down there?"

Tank grins to himself. He knows exactly whom Trinity is hoping to avoid. It is ironic to him that she'd taken every opportunity to watch Neo in the Matrix; to visit his home; to stake-out his workplace, and now that he's finally here, she's turned _shy_. "Don't worry, the coast is _clear_. Go to _bed_."

As Trinity descends the ladder to the lower deck, Tank hopes that she will sleep in, and that Morpheus will let her. He doubts it. Lately, her relationship with the Captain has not what it used to be. The flippant and familiar mood that was so acutely felt when he'd seen them together that first day in the Core had slowly deteriorated into a tense _tolerance_ of each other.

Of course, they never fought in front of the crew. In fact, they very rarely fought out _loud_. But the subtle glances, sometimes probably even unconscious exchanges of gestures and tones, had made Operating on the Nebuchadnezzar like walking barefoot through a field of shrapnel. Especially since Neo had entered their lives, he felt that he could almost cut the tension in the cockpit with a knife.

It was disheartening for Tank to see the two of them so alienated. Indeed, Tank had always thought of them as an inseparable team, two officers so bound by years of side-by-side combat that they shared an unshakable mutual confidence. They could anticipate each other's actions, read the tone of each other's voices, and, as if through a strange form of telepathy, always know exactly what the other was thinking. This, of course, was what made their weekly sparring match so interesting to watch.

In his characteristic bawdiness, Mouse once commented that the long-standing tradition of the Senior Officer's Duel was "better than porn" (and this was quite a compliment coming from the ship's most enthusiastic voyeur). Switch's half-sarcastic, half-serious response was that Trinity probably got more of a sexual payoff from fighting Morpheus than Mouse did from watching it. The nasty implication was that her notoriously undersexed superior officer filled the sexual void in her life through the periodic release endorphins, catecholamines, and other natural opiates afforded by a good knife-fight, fencing match, or, perhaps best of all, hand-to-hand combat. "I'm telling you guys," Switch smirked, "Her ideal boyfriend is an _Agent_. Someone who can _really_ kick the shit out of her when she _really_ needs it _bad_. Morpheus is too soft."

These were the sort of alcohol-induced comments that floated around the Core as the crew gathered around the monitors, watching as Trinity and Morpheus argued about the parameters of the imminent blood-bath. Trinity often pushed for a simulation of the Matrix, where she could use stealth and cunning to find her own weapons, and then hunt down her prey. The Captain, on the other hand, who didn't revel in the foreplay of the chase as much as his counterpart did, preferred the comfort of familiar surroundings and his favouriteKatana Samurai Sword.

Unbeknownst to the two rivals, the crew would drink, laugh, and place bets on the winner. More often than not, Morpheus would emerge victorious, of course, but Trinity always fought with such passion and _style_ that made her the uncontested favourite. Even Switch, whose relationship with Trinity was never more than stonily polite, couldn't help but cheer her on. Trinity was the only one who could hold her own with the Captain, and, perhaps most impressively, she did it with a wicked smile on her face. High on the rooftop of a skyscraper, on the smooth floor of the dojo, on or the cold concrete of a city alleyway, she'd taunt him, laugh at him, and always take a severe beating for it. It was the only time Tank ever saw Trinity laugh whole-heartedly without inhibition. Even when she finally conceded defeat, there was an air of immense satisfaction about her.

The only times Tank ever saw a hint of disappointment on Trinity's face was, if fact, when her mentor gave up, and with a broad smile of pride and respect, declared her the winner. It seemed that even when the Captain was bloodied and drenched in sweat, Trinity couldn't shake the suspicion that he'd _let_ her win. She'd reluctantly accept congratulations from her colleagues, and sometimes Tank would catch her looking through the records of Morpheus' vitals for signs he was holding back. The Captain called it her 'inferiority complex'. Trinity called it 'women's intuition.'

But, to the immense disappointment of the crew, the two legendary opponents hadn't sparred in a _very_ long time. And if Switch was right, Trinity's lack of sleep and bad eating habits were compounded with months of built-up sexual frustration. Indeed, perhaps her recent fascination with their (uncommonly _attractive_) new Target is not a coincidence after all.

Tank smiles to remember how her heartbeat peaked when she'd talked to Neo in that club. It was nearly comical. He had watched this woman take on an army of law-enforcement officers with nothing but a Beretta-92 and a half-empty clip without breaking a sweat. It certainly wasn't like Trinity to let anything rouse her. But Neo did. He could tell. Indeed, of all the Targets that the two of them had unplugged over the years, Neo was the only one for whom she'd _baked._

"Tank. I need you to do something for me," Trinity said one afternoon, with a very serious expression on her face. "It's a secret, though." She handed him a disk.

"What do you need? Proofreading?" He scowled and popped her program into the Operator's console.

"No. A _tasting_." Trinity sat in one of the chairs. "Jack me in."

For the next hour, Tank grinned at the screen as Trinity sampled about twenty of her own recipes in the Construct.

"You know, I already have some birthday cake programs. One of them has Superman on the top."

Trinity smiled, phone in one hand, fork in the other. The table in front of her was covered with plates of half-eaten slices of bunt cake and half-empty glasses of milk. She wasn't going to ask what Tank was doing with birthday cake programs.

"No. I wanted to write it myself."

"Ah! It's more _personal_ that way."

"Sentimental fool that I am." Trinity rolled her eyes and dusted some icing sugar from the breast of her leather outfit. "No, Tank. I had to make it myself because, for starters, Neo is lactose intolerant. So I used soy products… and _then_, I had to _cheat_ by re-writing the soy so it _tasted_ half-decent."

"Right."

"And secondly, that cheap coloured icing is too damn sweet. And it's bad for you. It's full of artificial flavours, preservatives, food colouring…"

"And Mr. Anderson is _very_ health conscious." Tank's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"No. But I am." Trinity dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Hmmm… I think I've got it." She licked her finger and picked up a few crumbs off the plate. "There's a slight lemony aftertaste to this one."

"You're quite mad, you know."

Trinity laughed. "It's decided. Marble bunt no. 5 it is."

"You want candles? I don't know if we can fit thirty-seven of them on there, though."

Tank regretted the words the minute the left his mouth. The smile instantly vanished from Trinity's face. His question was met with a tense static as she tossed the napkin onto the table and rose to her feet. "No. Forget it. Just get me out of here, would you? I'm tired."

As Tank settles back into the Operator's chair to begin the graveyard shift, he hopes that Neo's performance in tomorrow's training will help put Trinity's mind at ease. Then again, she probably wouldn't come to watch. Something told him that Neo would not have the benefit of Trinity's famous '4M tutorial' any time soon. It seemed that Tank would have to cover the Motorcycles and Machine Guns this time. And as for Trinity's favourite lecture on Makeshift Explosives & Molotov Cocktails, Tank wouldn't even know where to start. That woman could make _anything_ explode. Somehow, Neo would have to learn how to detonate a bottle of vodka and rum with nothing but a stick of bubble gum and spare parts from his cell phone all by himself.

Tank shakes his head. _Neo is going to have a rough time of it without her. _

8


	7. CHAPTER SIX

_**A/N**_

Hello, Readers! And here you go --- the beginning of a series of chapters that I like to call the "TRINNEO" chapters!

I recommend that you skim Chapter 2 again (it's short), becuase I bring back alot of the ideas from Ch.2 into these next 3 chapters (yes, you heard me right - THREE). They will be posted one at a time, just so it isn't too much at once!

Enjoy them! - Kristen

* * *

Chapter 6

Her vision still fuzzy, Trinity leaves Tank in the Core and makes her way down the ladder which leads to the lower deck, thinking about only one thing. _Sleep_. There is a sharp pain in her neck from the awkward position she'd assumed in that chair, and the stress of her day is pounding in her temples and sinuses with every heartbeat. Gritting her teeth and holding her breath is not helping. Perhaps she'd pour herself a hard drink to ease the pain. Better a little headache tomorrow morning than a throbbing migraine tonight.

While simultaneously faulting herself for drinking alone (and often), Trinity seriously considers finishing off the bottle of booze that she'd started last week. But then she's stricken a sobering thought. If Ghost were here, and if he still cared, he wouldn't approve. Then again, if he were here, she wouldn't have to drink _alone_, and he'd probably fix her a much better drink than the awful Zionist version of moonshine that Dozer made.

Trinity smiles sadly, remembering how Ghost would spend hours at the computer, trying his damndest to program a perfect simulation of his deadly green-apple martini, or, as she had coined it, "the Ghos'tini". Like she had with Neo's birthday cake, he'd written about twenty different mixtures, and then they sneaked into the Core at night, jacked in, and sipped each one, trying to compare each taste to the distant memory they had of the original. Of course, they were both drunk before long, and after several hilarious sparring matches in which they discovered that a _drunk_ mind is not necessarily a _free_ mind (the bruises from failed attempts to fly were worse than the hangover), Ghost carefully walked her back to her cabin and tucked her into bed.

In retrospect, Trinity is surprised they were never caught. She has hazy memories of stumbling around the Core, singing discordant bars of old Irish drinking songs. She'd never get very far. Ghost would practically leap on top of her, covering her mouth with the palm of his hand. She'd bite at his fingers and pull his hair, stifling laughter.

Thank God Morpheus never found out. No, nevermind Morpheus. Thank God _Niobe_ never found out. She would have fed Trinity to the closest hive of sentinels she could find… or subjected her to some other form of exotic punishment. Niobe had a knack for making Trinity's life a living hell (particularly when Morpheus wasn't around to save her). Trinity recalls a much younger version of herself scrubbing the controls in the cockpit with a toothbrush (_her_ toothbrush). That was the time Trinity rewired the ship's navigation system without telling her. If course, it was an _improvement_, but now, Trinity realizes that this is not the point. Today, if anyone so much as touched the Neb behind _her_ back, she'd do alot worse.

And what would Niobe think now… now that Trinity was missing duty shifts, leaving her gloves in a Target's apartment, baking cakes, and drinking herself to sleep? Would Niobe find a kind of self-satisfaction in her misery? If Trinity could humble herself enough to ask Niobe's advice, what would she say? "What difference would it make, you and Morpheus will do what you want, anyway." Trinity can hear Niobe's voice in her mind.

Yes, _this_ was what Trinity had been thinking about. This is what had led to her falling asleep in the Core. Now she remembers it all. For some reason, the thought of Niobe made her tired, and the thought of Ghost made her feel sick with a kind of angry guilt. So much for the drink.

Having made several paces down the dark hallway towards her room, Trinity suddenly freezes, and her heart skips a beat. Her vision focuses and her pain dulls as every nerve in her body becomes hyperaware. Neo's door is open, and the light is on.

_Oh, No. He's awake. _

She feels a wave of anxiety and panic, a response that is more due to shock than any sincere form of fear. Foolishly, Trinity is surprised that Neo would be awake, _alive_, on this ship, in his room. She almost feels as if he should be somewhere else. Perhaps she'd simply been in denial that eventually, she'd have to face him. Indeed, the mess of thoughts in her mind had distracted her from the fact that Neo is no longer unconscious, and that tomorrow, he'll be training with Tank, eating with the crew, and learning the ropes on the ship.

Even when she saw him in the Core this morning, he didn't seem _Real_ to her. Perhaps, again, it was the surprise of seeing him awake so soon. She hadn't prepared herself for the encounter, and all she could do was mechanically follow Morpheus' instructions, finally finding a slight relief once he was jacked into the Construct.

Trinity stood by his chair and watched his eyes flicker, as if dreaming. There was a bothered frown wrinkled across his forehead, and, without noticing what she was doing, Trinity's hand rested on his chest. It was then that she made her first startling discovery. This man was absolutely _gorgeous_. His features were simply perfect. His skin was so white, the curves of his brow and jaw so strong and masculine, yet elegant, that Trinity could not look away from him. No, she decided, his RSI did not do him justice at all. And it was this thought that led her to the second, less welcome epiphany of the morning. He was a complete stranger. The digital projection to which she'd become accustomed, Trinity realized, did not really exist. It had been an illusion, and this person, this beautiful stranger was as foreign to her as she was to him. It was an unexpectedly _painful_ revelation, one that Trinity realizes she'd pushed to the back of her mind when Neo passed out, and, once the thought began to creep back into her thoughts, she'd been quick to take it out on Morpheus. Perhaps Cypher was right. She'd been upset with him for the wrong reasons. Trinity wishes she could go back in time, leave Morpheus alone, slap Cypher _twice_, and call the whole thing even.

And so she'd avoided the idea of Neo for the rest of the day, instead preferring the safe distraction of resenting Morpheus, hating Cypher, and brooding about Niobe and Ghost. It is not until this moment, when Trinity stares at the rectangle of light pouring into the dark corridor that the reality of Neo's presence on the ship is fully guaged. He is her colleague, and she is petrified by the prospect of _talking_ to him.

She eyes her own room, which is only a few feet beyond his, and weighs the odds of slipping by unnoticed. Maybe she'd just head back up to the Core. Trinity remembers that she hadn't told Tank to clean off those monitors, and while he did that, she could scrub the iron grating all night. It probably needed a good wash after this morning, anyway.

_You're really losing it, Trinity. Tank would have you committed to Med Bay (with good reason)… Just go to bed… _

Feeling the pounding return to her temples, Trinity walks as gracefully as she can, not making the faintest sound as she approaches Neo's open door. She stops at the edge of the doorframe and plasters her body against the wall.

_Just stride by… very quickly, and silently. _

A classic guerrilla tactic. It had served her well when avoiding Agents in the Matrix. Certainly, it would work here. Trinity holds her breath.

_Go_.

In an instant, she's made a swift, elegant dash past his room. But in the time it takes her to get to the other side, poor Trinity has made an utterly embarrassing discovery.

_He not even in there! You idiot. _

She can't help but smile in spite of herself. She gingerly steps back in front of the doorframe and looks around the room. Completely empty. She rolls her eyes and sighs.

_Dodged a bullet there, soldier. _

After checking the hallway to make sure nobody had seen what she'd just done, the First Officer of the Nebuchadnezzar promptly turns her attention back to Neo's cabin. And as her eyes move over the few, modest objects in the tiny space, she is overcome with an acute sensation of nostalgia. This used to be her room. When she first joined the ship. And, although her present cabin is much bigger, and much warmer, she'd always felt more at home here.

Of course, the room looks different now. But not necessarily because her things are gone, or because any of the furniture in the room has changed. No, Trinity decides, it's the _mess_ that makes it look so different.She shakes her head as she scrutinizes the unmade bed and balled-up sweater on the floor.

_Oh, Neo. _

Her lips curl slightly. She remembers how impossibly messy his little, dingy apartment had been. The first time she'd walked into it, her gut impulse was to _hold her breath_. It was an uphill battle to step over everything and get to his computer, and it was even more difficult for her to sift through the wrappers and paper on his desk for information of interest. She had barely been at the computer for ten minutes before her obsessive-compulsive nature won over and she got up to tidy some of the mess.

So, purely out of habit, Trinity bends over and picks up Neo's sweater. It's inside-out. She bites her lower lip and scowls.

_Next thing you know, I'll be bringing you room-service. _

She pushes both her arms into the sleeves and inverts the garment. She is about to fold it against her chest when her breath catches in her throat. The scent of the sweater is familiar to her.

_The same as in the Matrix. _

For a few moments, she gently holds the loosely- knitted fabric against her, thinking. Wondering about him. She wonders what he's actually _like_... this man she spent months learning so much about, but cannot bring herself to actually _speak_ to. She wonders what makes him laugh. The entire time she'd watched him in the Matrix… he never laughed. Not that he doesn't have a sense of humour, mind you:

_I still can't believe he left me milk and cookies. Who does that?_

Trinity smiles as she finally finishes folding the sweater. Careful hands rest it on the desk.

_And after I left my gloves, he didn't even bother to change the locks. Instead, he went out and got a 'Welcome' mat. Yes, ha, ha, Neo. Very funny._

Absent-mindedly, she turns to the bed. Trinity throws aside the covers and grabs at the sheets. In one swift, graceful motion, she whips them over the bed, and tucks the edges under the mattress.

_Were you flirting with me? With your stalker? That's so twisted, Neo. That's what you are, a twisted slob… _

The pillow is tossed into place. Trinity then bends for the covers. She finds two corners in the tangled mess at her feet and, taking one in each hand, she stretches out her arms, drawing the blanket out in front of her.

_I wonder if he suspects it was me. 'The' Trinity. Kansas City D-BASE Trinity… Wrote you a cake. Watered your plants. Which you subsequently killed. Very disappointing, Neo._

She tucks the edge of the blanket under her chin, and folds the sides in towards her chest. After doubling the fabric over several times, a perfectly-folded rectangle of knitted cloth hangs from her hands. She is about to place it on the bed when her attention suddenly returns to what she's doing.

_Oh my God. _

These had been _her_ blankets. When she first joined the ship.Trinity recognizes her own stitching around some of the mended holes. Her fingers tenderly dance over the patches as she sits down on the freshly-made bed. She is reminded of the first time she'd ever opened her eyes. She was wrapped in these blankets, curled up on this cot. Terrified. Practically blind. The first thing she remembers ever feeling was Niobe's rough fingertips caressing her cheek. She'd felt so alone. So lost. And even then, she had Ghost to get her through. Whom did Neo have?

_Morpheus?_

The thought puts a sour expression on Trinity's face. The first time she'd met him, she'd found Morpheus… _creepy_. Of course, she'd been unplugged at a time when afros were (apparently) in style and Morpheus still had hair (it took Trinity and Niobe's combined efforts to convince him to do away with the frightful thing). In spite of the long-overdue fashion update, Trinity knew full-well how intimidating Morpheus could be. No, she couldn't imagine that Neo found much comfort in _his_ company at all.

_You're probably lonely as hell. _

Trinity feels guilty. She hadn't even visited him _once_ in the med bay. Not once in two weeks.

_Cypher is right. I am a hypocrite. _

Rising to her feet, Trinity runs her fingers through her hair, and then puts her hands on her hips, looking around the empty room. She realizes that if Neo had been in his room tonight, she would have avoided him again. She would have just let him sit alone. And now, instead of looking for him to see if he's alright, she is making his bed. Stalking him. Just like she had in the Matrix.

"God, I'm _creepier_ than Morpheus." She shakes her head, amazed by how ludicrous the situation is.

_Poor Neo is stuck in this ship with a bunch of psychopaths. The machines want to kill him, The Captain thinks he's God, and the First Officer, who is obsessed with cleaning his cabin, is petrified of human conversation. I wouldn't be surprised if he's hanged himself from a support beam. _

Trinity thinks seriously for a moment, and decides that Neo is probably in the mess-hall. As she walks out of the room and heads down the corridor, she tries not to feel nervous.

_What am I supposed to say to him? What did Niobe say to me?_

She struggles to remember.

_Nothing. The minute I woke up, I asked to see Ghost._

Despite all of Niobe's efforts to soothe her, Trinity had refused to calm down until she saw her friend. So Niobe ran off to get Ghost, and for hours Trinity just cried in his arms. She can't remember the last time she'd cried like that. Not for awhile. Not since he left.

Arriving at the door to the mess hall, Trinity sees the lights are on, and Neo is sitting at the table, his back to her.

For a moment she just watches him. He hasn't heard her come in. She resists the urge to turn around and run back to her cabin.

* * *


	8. CHAPTER SEVEN

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Eric (whose pseudo- sense of humour inspired Neo's character). _

_Eric never reads my stuff, never reviews it, but insists that one day, if only once… he will make good on one of his promises. (As of June 1st, 2005, he has never gone jogging with me, never called me for coffee, nor has he given me a birthday present from last year's Dec. 18th). I have to wonder how he hasn't moved away and changed his name in embarrassment yet. But we can always hope, can't we, people? _

_So, this chapter is a dedication to true love. May Trinity and Neo be happier in their love than I was. Cheers - to not losing heart, and never giving up!_

_Chapter 7_

"_Neo?" _It is a soft whisper.

Neo turns and looks at her with a bewildered expression on his face. It takes a few moments for his eyes to focus on her properly. She is leaning on the door frame, arms crossed tightly across her chest, hands curled into the sleeves of her sweater.

_Trinity. _

There is a long, awkward silence as he examines her with curious bemusement. He is still stricken with the difference in her appearance. In fact, earlier, in the Core, he almost hadn't recognized her. She just looks so _different_ in this place. Her skin is much paler, her eyes more strikingly blue. And, in the faint glow of the fluorescent lights, the curves of her cheekbones and jaw seem much softer than he'd remembered. Indeed, the woman standing in the doorframe, regarding him with a faint smile, seems too _delicate_ to be the Trinity that he'd met in the Matrix.

"I'm sorry." Trinity's eyes flutter nervously around the room. "… If you want to be alone, I'll just..."

"No…. no, I'm sorry." Neo realizes he'd been staring, and consciously tries to look at something else. It is hardly an instant, however, before he looks back at her. "Actually, I could use a little company. Right now I'm feeling a bit… I don't know… _lonely_, I guess."

Trinity's heart skips a beat. _Oh, Neo._

"I didn't… think anyone was awake, so…"

Her chest tightens.

"Anyway." He sighs, and runs his hand over his nearly bald head. He looks up at her with dark, chocolate-brown eyes. Eyes that are impossibly lost. But they're also very alive. Open, and deep, and _alive_.

In that moment, Trinity sees something that she hadn't expected to find. She'd seen it in the Matrix, and had been so afraid that she'd never see it again. That somehow, he'd leave it behind. Or that she'd only imagined it in the first place.

_There's such strength in you, Neo. I see it. _

"I just got off the night shift," she lies. Trinity's lips curl into a strange, indefinable smile. "I don't sleep much."

"Ah." Neo shrugs. "But how you can tell?"

"…What?"

"I mean, how can you tell that it's night?"

"I'm sorry… uhm… I don't quite…"

He scowls, struggling through his sentence. "If you can't see the Sun. And, I mean, you don't even know what year it is… so... how can you _really_ tell the time?"

Caught off-guard, Trinity takes a moment to process the unexpected question. "Oh….Matrix time. We go by Matrix time."

Neo nods, seemingly satisfied. Then, abruptly, "Which time zone?"

The corner of her mouth twitches upward. "Greenwich."

"Ah."

"That's G.M.T."

"Yeah…" He grins at her, "I know _that, _Trinity."

"Right." Feeling foolish, Trinity turns her head down to hide an nervous smile that, despite her sincerest efforts, she can't keep off her face. When she finally looks back up, though, she finds Neo's face stricken with an exhausted worry. She feels sick.

_Oh, No. I should have come here sooner._

She steps into the room and takes a seat next to him. Then, gently, carefully, "You wanna talk?"

"I Just." Neo exhales sharply. "I just don't think I'm going to make a very good _Saviour_, that's all."

Trinity feels her cheeks burn. Her hands form two tight fists. _Foreverly tactful, aren't we, Morpheus? This is all my fault. I should have stayed with him. _

"See, I don't think that I um… handled the _news_ very well this morning."

Trinity watches as he struggles with an impossible task, trying to place himself in a world he knows nothing about. In a world he _apparently_ is supposed to _save_. She frantically searches for something to say to him. Anything. She sighs.

"Okay. I'll tell you a secret about me." She brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and stares Purposefully into his eyes. "When I was first unplugged. When Morheus told me the news… For _three_ _days_, I didn't sleep… I didn't _eat_…and I didn't _speak_. Not a single word. _To anyone._ I just… stayed in my room… lying in bed… staring at the ceiling. Counting the rivets in the sheet metal."

Neo nods slightly, looking down at the table. But Trinity leans in her seat and stretches her neck until her face is in his line of vision. Only when she has his eyes back does she continue.

"103." She says, drolly raising an eyebrow. "918, if you count the walls and the floor." Her eyes travel all over his face. "On the third day, I caught pneumonia. For six days I was delirious from the fever. I almost didn't make it."

Trinity rests a hand firmly on his shoulder, "So… Saviour or not, Neo. I think you're handling the news just _fine_."

He lets her words hang in the air, wanting to revel in the security of her confidence for as long as possible. He'd heard that even, sure tone of hers before. Strange that she looked so different here, but that _voice_ was the same. It was the only thing that kept him from leaving that car in the Matrix. And now it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart at this table.

"How old were you, Trinity?"

She relaxes her grip on his shoulder, and gently slides her hand down his arm, stopping at his elbow. "That was… twelve years ago. I was seventeen." She lets him go. "Barely."

Neo tries to imagine her that young, and wonders what kind of hell she'd gone through since arriving in the Real World. Although he knows almost nothing of life aboard this ship, or the kind of dangers the machines pose to their survival, he suspects that she'd lived through more than he could imagine. She looks tired, and much older than twenty-nine. He resists the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"And, so… _this_ is what you've been doing for the past twelve years, then?"

"…What?"

"_This_. You and Morpheus… you two…_unplug_ people for a living?"

"Well…okay, yes." She seems amused by the question. "I suppose that's an accurate description."

"Saving humanity?"

"Oh, I don't know about _that_." She sighs. "These past few weeks anyway, we've mostly only focussed on _you_."

"Ah, so that's the deal, then." He leans closer to her, so that their shoulders are touching. A slight intonation of sarcasm is detectable in his voice. "You save me, and I save everyone else?"

"Hmmm." Trinity is reminded of something the Oracle told her, a long time ago. "Apparently."

Neo tilts his head curiously, trying to read the expression on her face. She appears contemplative, a distant, absent-minded look in her eyes.

"Trinity?"

She looks back at him, an elusive whisper of a smile crossing over her features. He was about to ask her if she believes in the Prophecy. He was about to ask about the machines, about the War, about the _world_… but something stops him. Somehow, the blue softness of her eyes, the mess of her hair, the slight curl of her lips, makes him not want to know anymore. Instead, "Tell me about the IRS database."

Trinity almost bursts out laughing. That was the last thing she expected him to say. As much as she couldn't bear the comparison, he was sounding slightly like Cypher, nine years ago. "Kansas City? That was…"

"Was a long time ago?" Neo leans closer to her, and lowers his voice, as if telling her a secret. "Come on, throw me a bone, here… _Red Queen_."

"…What did you call me?"

"The Red Queen… that's you, isn't it? Morpheus' _legendary_ Red Queen. You have to be."

Trinity nods, and wonders what else he has managed to figure out about her. "That pseudonym is… _outdated_," she replies. "Nobody here calls me that anymore."

"As in The Queen of Hearts?"

"That's right." She silently gives him points for making the Alice in Wonderland connection so quickly. Morpheus would be proud. "The name started out as a joke that, unfortunately, _stuck_ for a very long time. I _thought_ I'd finally escaped it."

"A joke?" Neo places his elbow on the table ad props up his head, as if preparing himself for a long story.

Trinity hesitates, not wanting to tell him the embarrassing truth that, in fact, the nick-name was Niobe's surreptitious way of commenting on her short temper, while simultaneously mocking the Ruby- Red leather catsuit that she used to wear in the Matrix. This was certainly not a piece of information that Neo has to know. She'd rather talk about hacking into the IRS mainframe, and even this is a story she'd much rather forget.

"It's late," Trinity says apologetically, glancing at the door. "We should get to bed..."

Neo sighs his disappointment, wishing that she'd stay. He wants to know more about her, the _Red Queen…_ Trinity… the elusive phantom who shadowed the internet hacking boards.

"Anyhow, I heard that you're starting training tomorrow." Trinity continues to try and wrap-up the conversation.

"That's what I'm told."

The reminder of the looming day ahead is not a welcome one. He'd almost managed to forget about it for a moment or two. As the grip of anxiety returns tight in his chest, Neo's eyes come to rest on Trinity's hands, which are sitting on the table, fingers woven together in a delicate maze.

_She's so… tiny. _

He is reminded of the long, slender gloves he'd found in his apartment. His eyes travel along her dainty wrists and up to her elbow. A smile creeps over his face when he considers the possibility that perhaps, he knows a bit more about Trinity than he originally thought.

"Tank is going to be your Operator… I trust him, but you should know that he can be a bit intense."

"Uh… really?" Neo replies, distracted. _It was you in my apartment, wasn't it? You're the Ghost._

"Yes. So, you should try and sleep."

"Yeah, I'll uh… do that." _The cake…My clothes…My plants…_

"Neo?" Trinity wonders about the ridiculous smile that he is giving her. Of course, it is wonderful to see him smile. But something about it seems… a bit _sinister_.

"Yeah." Snapping back to reality, Neo decides to test his hypothesis. "Right. Thanks for the advice. Um. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a… _piece of cake?_"

She scowls at him for a moment, confused by the strange, suggestive tone of his voice. His eyes shine back knowingly at hers.

"_What_…?" But before she can form the question, Trinity catches her breath. _Oh, my God. Oh, God no. _She now understands his full meaning and suddenly wishes for the earth to open up and swallow her whole (that is, of course, if she weren't already five miles down). Trinity can feel his eyes on her face as she looks away uneasily, trying to decide how best to respond.

"Why, is there something the _batter_, Trinity?"

She wants to shoot him a glare of contempt for his awful puns but she decides rather, to play it cool. Betraying nothing, her eyes drown his face in a sea of blue.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she says evenly.

Unconvinced, Neo continues to study her patiently, challenging her. Daring her to smile, or frown, or flinch… _anything_. But the Marble Bunt Fairy just stares right back with a flawlessly impartial expression. A bit _too_ impartial, actually.

_It was you, I know it was you. _His eyes travel along the curve of her collarbones, and up along the lovely slope of her neck. Pausing at an earlobe, he then follows the fluid curvature of her jawline to her chin.

_She really is beautiful. _

"Well, I'm off to bed." Trinity points to the door and gets up, desperate to make a quick escape. She suddenly has a renewed interest in her initial plan to _drink_ the night away.

"Me too." Neo rises and won't stop smiling. "I'll walk with you."

Trinity freezes. _Oh, no. _

She quickly calculates the odds that Neo will somehow _not_ notice that she made his bed and folded his sweater. Maybe he wouldn't think it was her. She frowns. No, he will know. He will know instantly… and she does not want to be there when he figures it out.

"I'm sorry, but no."

"What do you mean… _'No'?_" Neo raises an eyebrow, puzzled, and more than a little worried. Trinity looks like she might faint.

"What I mean is… uhm…" She feels like a complete idiot. Her heart pounds in her chest as she frantically grasps for a way out. "I'm going to…"

"Go to bed?"

"Yes. I said that. But _first_…" Desperateeyes dart around the mess-hall. "I'm going to grab some bleach and head up to the Core. Goddamned monitors are _filthy_…"

Even as she is saying it, Trinity realizes that this is potentially the worst, most absurd excuse she could have come up with. Neo seems to agree. He contorts his face into an _'are you kidding me?' _expression, chuckles, and says, "_Right_. I think I understand you perfectly. It's _oh- kay_."

Frustrated and angry with her own stupidity, and quite frankly annoyed by the patronizing tone of his voice, Trinity glowers at him dangerously. Then, in the most intimidating voice she can manage, "_Goodnight_, Neo."

Neo is delighted with her distemper, judging it as a clear admission of the defendant's _guilt_ in all counts. However, he is also stricken with the possibility that the accused might _hit_ him if he persists to tease her any further. So, he wills the smile (barely) off his face, backs away to a safe distance, and, in a tone of exaggerated chivalry, he wishes her a goodnight, and oh, if she's planning on using bleach to clean the hardware, she shouldn't forget to wear her _gloves_. Those chemicals are corrosive, after all.

Before Trinity has time to respond (or take off her boot and throw it at him), Neo turns and heads down the corridor, leaving Trinity to sit in the mess hall for the next half an hour, with her head in her hands, feeling totally ridiculous.

When he gets back to his cabin, it takes Neo a few seconds of to confirm that he's actually in the right room. When he spots the perfectly folded sweater on the desk, he can't help but chuckle.

_Oh, Trinity… _

He imagines her making his bed. The mental image is irresistible to him.

_So that's why she wouldn't walk down here with me._

He studies the tightly-tucked sheets, and the precisely placed blanket at the foot of the mattress.

_You could flip a quarter on this bed. _

He smirks.

_You could flip a quarter on a lot of things when it comes to Trinity… _

Neo picks up the sweater and thoughtfully runs his fingers across the knit.

_One day, Bunt Fairy… I'm going to catch you… _

8

tbc...


	9. CHAPTER EIGHT, PROLOGUE

A/N

Hello, everyone. Thanks for the wonderful reviews for Ch.7. I'm so glad to see a few new people - hopefully you will continue reading. I only keep going as long as you guys are enjoying it, so keep reviewing, plz!

Seeing as the puns seem to be popular, I will try to give you a bit more of that. This prologue is for Rorie (my Original Character) lovers... those of you who dont remember her, just skim the Teaser and the beginning of Ch1.

Ch 8 will be up soon (it's almost done, and, I must say, kinda adorable)

Cheers - Kristen.

* * *

_**Prologue to Chapter 8  
Zion, circa 2219**_

Of course, Reader, you know what happened the next day. The next day, my father learned Kung-Foo, won his first Sparring match against Morpheus, and then failed the Jump Program. Everyone in Zion has heard the story a million times, in one form or another (I believe that the scene was recently spoofed in the motion picture comedy 'Agents Have Feelings, Too'). Nevertheless, as I consider myself a _serious_ journalist, before writing about it, I felt obliged to confirm the common legend by returning to the Source.

"I just _barely_ missed the other side," is how my father described that famous first leap from a skyscraper. He indicated a minuscule amount of space between his thumb and index finger.

Then, rolling her eyes, my mother interjected. "He didn't even come close, Rorie. Make sure you write that down. I want it to be 'on record'. He didn't even make it _half_ way. It was quite pathetic, actually."

"What? You weren't even _there_!" Dad dismissed her comment with an emphatic wave of a hand, and then playfully shoved her away from me. "Ignore her, Rorie. Trinity, go make us dinner like a good wife."

Mother wrapped an arm around his neck, trapping him in a head-lock. Doubled over and laughing, my father tried only half-heartedly to fight her off. Head pressed firmly into her breasts, I have a feeling he wasn't in a hurry to escape.

"Just because I wasn't there when we pulled you out, bleeding and bruised from your fall..." she said, gripping him harder and leaning forward to speak into his ear, "doesn't mean I wasn't _watching_. You assume too much." Finally releasing his head, she smiled knowingly at me, as if enjoying her own inside joke. "I saw it all."

Dad stared at her for a few seconds, as if trying to decide if he should believe her or not (something told me that he already did, and that they'd been through this before). With the exaggerated intonation of a hypothetical question (asked only for my benefit), Dad finally said, "Well, if that's true, why wouldn't you stick around, Trin? Why weren't you _there_, giving me fake looks of sympathy, like the rest of them?"

Smile fading from her face, Mother reached over and grabbed my voice-recorder from the table and switched it off. "_That_ is not important."

"She was embarrassed," Dad whispered to me loudly, making sure Mother could hear.

"No, that isn't true."

"And so she was avoiding me."

"Who wouldn't? I still avoid you."

"She baked me a cake, made my bed, picked a pair of my pants off the floor, and then, when I _called _her on it, she banished me from the mess hall with a nasty Trinity glare… just like the one she's giving me right now. Not that it _bothered_ me… but what _did_ upset me was that she _avoided_ me for the next twenty-four hours." He shook his head, and concluded ruefully, "And I still married her…."

"Firstly, it was a _sweater_, you slob."

Dad grinned and placed his arm enthusiastically around her shoulders. "Hey, if I hadn't been such a _slob_, we never would have fallen in love."

Mom shrugged, as if to agree that this was in fact, true. "Any more of a slob and I would have caught the Plague in your apartment, and we'd all be dead."

"Yes, okay, whatever you say." He winked at me. "So, what's for supper… more mushrooms?"

"Hmmm… McZion Trios. Supersize mine."

"I always do, dear."

At this point, I was sufficiently annoyed with both of them, as my interview was ruined with their immature roughhousing and not-so-subtle sexual innuendos (I think they'd both be surprised to realize at what age I began to catch on… needless to say, I'm irreparably scarred).

Now, although I had no idea why the phrase 'McZion Trio' was so funny (I'm told that it's a Matrix-born joke), the _point_ was that they were not taking this so nearly as seriously as I would have liked. I turned the recorder back on, and forced them into seats at opposite sides of the room.

"Alright… if we can possibly speak one at a time, please…" They exchanged a quick glance that told me that I'd be the butt of their jokes later, but I didn't care. "And tell me what happened next."

"She bent my spoon."

"Excuse me?" I was about to turn the recorder back off and storm out of the room. If this was another nasty metaphor of a joke that I didn't want to hear, I was ready to move out.

"I bent his spoon. Literally, sweetheart. A _spoon_." Mother was very close to laughing but she managed to hold it in. She knew I was at my wits end with them.

"I've never heard this story…"

"Well, if you'd give us a _chance_!" Dad feigned exasperation. "And she calls _us _difficult!"

"Daddy, _please_… this is important to me."

Seeing that I was genuinely upset, Dad's expression sobered, and he nodded. "Alright, Trin, I think we should tell her. She's earned it."

Mother smiled. "Let me sit next to him again, and I'll tell you everything. I promise, I'll be good." She held up her hands to me as if I were a Peacekeeper and she, surrendering rogue Militia.

I didn't trust her at all (the first thing you're taught in the Academy is that rogue Militia _never_ surrender) but, as always in my family, I had very little choice. As she sat on my father's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, Mother began the next chapters of our story.

She reluctantly began by telling me that, in fact, Dad was quite right… she _was_ avoiding him. In fact, with some effort, Dad was able to get her to admit that she never went to bed that night after he left her in the mess-hall, nor did she make good on her promise to head back up to the Core (the kitchen, on the other hand, was spotless the next morning).

Not that she hung around to enjoy it. She skipped breakfast, and remained passed out on her mattress until lunch, which was interrupted by the aforementioned Sparring match.

"Oh," Mother added, as a side-note to amend my father's earlier testimony, "And Neo did not _'knock him out with his first punch'_… Morpheus kicked him into a support beam, and threw him to the ground _several_ times…"

"Damn, you really _were_ there…"

"Honestly. Does that surprise you?"

Dad smiled, and said that, in fact, it did not. He told me that, like any _good_ ghost, my mother was neither here nor there, everywhere and nowhere, haunting his every move, but always invisible. "She'd only ever appear to me at night… after everyone else was asleep."

"The graveyard shift." Mom's fingers were idly playing with his hair.

"Yes… _that's_ where you find a ghost, isn't it? _That's_ where I found you. In the Core, in the middle of the night… you'd left me dinner and I came to find you…"

I lifted my portable computer into my lap and opened a fresh document. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

"Trinity was like…" Dad turned and examined her face, as if within her present-day profile lay a map to the past, which he could follow back to the precise moment he wished to recall. "A _musican_ at the computer."

"What were you writing, Mom?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter - it was doomed to failure. Your father made _sure_ of that."

* * *


	10. CHAPTER EIGHT

_**A/N**_

**_Hello, eveyone! I'm so happy to see some new readers, and am foreverly grateful to those who continue to reveiew every chapter (theres nothing that makes me happier than to know that you enjoy reading as much as I do writing it: DM and LiMiYa,I mean you two especially!). _**

**_I just love this cutsy Trin-Neo flirtation stuff, so here's more of it. Chapter nine is almost done, it will follow._**

**_OK: I am also working on a new story, which is intended to be a post- R&R 'sequel' to this one. It's meant to take place twenty years in the future, and is an epic that follows the matrix crew, as well as Rorie and some other "next generation heroes" (morpheus' son? wink wink) on a journey to destroy the matrix entirely and recolonize the surface. I intend to finally address the question of HOW TRIN AND NEO SURVIVED THE WAR (that must be bothering some of you), and there is a huge twist to the story that i wont give away, but suffice it to say that SMITH will be back, and I intend some interesting character development with him (agents have feelings, too!) - _**

**_let me know in reviews if any of you would be interested in this, because im excited about developing the story if i can be sure of at least a few readers! (working title: PEPSI PRESENTS: MATRIX, the NEXT GENERATION. lol jkjk)_**

**_and enjoy chapter 8! - kristen_**

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 8  
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199**_

Hidden in the shadows behind the Operator's chair, Neo stands directly behind her, watching her; _listening_ as she plays a series of discordant bars at the keyboard.

Tica-Tica; tap, tap, tap. _Rest._ Tapitty-Tica; tap, tap. Tapitty-Tica-Tica-tap. _Rest._ Tap. Tap. _Rest. _

In her concentration, Trinity has not heard him come in, and, now that he's found her, Neo is in no hurry to give himself away. Instead, he listens, all the while imagining her, sitting at those monitors, watching him, just as he's watching her now. Neo knows that Trinity had been his audience for many performances of this type. She'd walked through his home, touched his things, and run those long, slender fingers over his keyboard.

He is also sure that _she_ was the one who _cleaned_ his keyboard. In retrospect, Neo can imagine that this was probably the first thing that Trinity the obsessive-compulsive neat-freak did.

He realizes now that this small service was her subtle, self-indulgent '_hello'_ to him. She wiped years of built-up dust from between the keys, and lifted the layer of grey grime from the once off-white plastic. Moreover, the fingerprints that had previously smudged his computer screen were gone, and the room smelled like Windex®.

Thomas Anderson answered by nailing his window shut and changing the locks.

Neo's eyes narrow as he stares at Trinity. He folds his arms across his chest.

_You probably sat right there and watched me take the bus to the hardware store, buy nails, come back, borrow my landlady's hammer, subsequently hit my thumb with said hammer…_

_You're just pure evil, aren't you, Trinity? Honestly, how did you sleep at night?_

Neo suppresses a whimsical urge to yell out suddenly, frightening his unsuspecting (yet deserving) victim right out of her wits. She could certainly spare some, given all the mischief she'd caused. If it wasn't his plants being watered (may the poor things rest in peace), it was the day-old take-out she'd cleared off his desk. Or his clothes were picked-up and folded (a habit that, it would seem, is not yet out of her system). At one point, Neo even noticed that Trinity had set his clock ahead fifteen minutes. Evidently, his boss was not the only person who had noticed his chronic lack of punctuality.

_I can't believe I left her milk and cookies. What I should have done was gotten myself a damn-good guard-dog. A birthday cake wouldn't have saved her from that jam. _

He smiles at her. The memory of the bunt cake strikes a cord with him. Strangely enough, this year's March 11th was the first birthday in a long time that he didn't spend feeling _completely_ alone.

Tica-Tica-Tapitty; tap, tap, tap. _Rest._ Tapitty-Tapitty, tap, tap. _Rest._

The musician's delicate fingers lift from her instrument. She softly breathes some heat into her fists and rubs her hands together. Her head dips and her shoulders tense as she begins again.

Tap, tap, Tica-tap…

In truth, Neo had come to enjoy the various unconventional intricacies that characterized their ongoing game. She'd had the advantage in the Matrix, but, clearly, he caught her off-guard last night. Trinity not only skipped breakfast with the crew today, but he also noticed that she was the only one of his colleagues who hadn't watched him fail the Jump Program. Indeed, Neo had almost given up on her.

That is, of course, until he woke up to the dinner tray she left by his bedside. Specifically, what interested him most about the mysterious gift was the state of his unfortunate _spoon_. She'd bent it into a strange _S_-shape, exactly mimicking the way he used to bend his heavy metal forks to keep them from toppling nearly-empty Chinese-food containers (which, naturally, she'd cleaned off his desk on more than one occasion).

_The mess probably drove you nuts, didn't it, Trinity? I should have spread plum-sauce all over the keyboard before going to work._

Neo can't stop smiling at her. Far from a peace-offering, he knew that the eccentrically warped utensil was her attempt at a smug recovery from yesterday's humiliating defeat. This time, she _wanted_ him to know the gift was from her.

Tica-tap. Tica-tap, tap, tap. _Rest_. Tapitty-Tapitty, tap, tap. _Rest._

Again, the music suffers an abrupt break as Trinity exhales heavily onto her fingertips, trying to recover sensation. She sits on her hands.

"You know, Neo, I can _see_ you from the reflection in the monitors. Which means I've been watching you _stare_ at me for the past five minutes." Trinity turns in her chair, and regards him with her most serious expression. "And, to be quite honest, I'm a bit… _bent out of shape?_ …about it."

Neo, completely taken by surprise, looks back at her like a deer staring straight into oncoming headlights. He can't decide if her pun was intended or not. Indeed, the clever play on words would seem to indicate that Trinity has a sense of humour, but the look on her face and tone of her voice warn him of the contrary. Confused and more than a little embarrassed, he considers simply running away.

"That was a _pun_, soldier. Not a live grenade. You're going to be OK."

She raises an eyebrow, smirks at her own cleverness, and then, satisfied that she's taught him a lesson, turns back to the keyboard.

Tica-Tica, tap, tap, tap. _Rest._ Tapitty-tap. Tica-tap, tap, tap. _Rest._

Neo walks up to the screens, still uncomfortable, but too drawn in to even think of walking away. He finds Trinity's eyes in one of the many monitors. They're laughing at him.

He leans against her chair and looks over at the side of her face. "Thank you for dinner, Trinity."

"Hmmm." She continues to tap away at the keys. "You're welcome, Neo."

"My poor flatware is less grateful, however."

"Aha." She raises one finger in the air, while her free hand continues to glide across the board. "I thought you'd enjoy a taste of home."

"What? The home you made me completely _terrified_ to live in?" In keeping with Trinity's dead-pan sense of humour, Neo tries hard to sound serious, but he simply can't conceal the pitch of amusement in his voice. "If I'd jumped off a bridge, or checked myself into to a mental institution, Morpheus would have _been very upset with_ _you_. Apparently, I'm important… to _him_ anyway. But clearly, not _every_ member of the crew has the same concern for my well-being."

Trinity stares blankly ahead at the screen with a sober expression on her face. As she continues typing, a subdued _'Mmm,'_ is the only answer she offers.

He scowls at her, confused by the grave, non-response to his comment. Trinity is making it rather difficult to engage her in conversation. Perhaps she has simply learned her lesson from last night. Neo decides to try again.

"I didn't see you all day..."

"Well, I was busy."

"Or, you were _avoiding_ me."

The hair on the back of her neck prickles to attention. Of course she was avoiding him, and she hated that he knew it. "No, I'm not. People _work_." She nods testily at the monitor. She punches the keys with more force now, making numerous mistakes, but she doesn't bother to correct them. "Unlike you and your _considerate_ mentor, I can't play in the Constructs all day. I'm too busy _writing_ them."

As soon as she'd finished the sentence, Trinity regretted saying it. She knows he had an awful day. Mr. _Consideration_ had pushed him harder than she would have liked, and she spent much of the afternoon brooding about it. Trinity had programmed that Jump Program herself, and now she wishes that she'd made the ground a bit more elastic. Or the buildings closer together.

Neo, on the other hand, is unaffected by Trinity's apparent irritation. He continues to beam at her, just as he had the night before she moodily bid him goodnight with an expression that was one-quarter contempt, and three-quarters humiliation. Neo finds it all irresistibly amusing. It is probably the mental image of her making his bed that is getting to him the most. Among other things, the thought of Trinity and her many… eccentricities had kept him up all night.

"Okay. _Sorry_." He wonders how long she sat alone in the mess-hall before sneaking back to her room. "No need to get upset… just because you were the _bunt_ of some of my jokes."

Her hands pause in the air, and the green vines of code that had been tumbling down the screens instantly freeze. A blinking cursor flickers its impatience at the base of the monitor.

_Oh, Neo… _

Fighting to keep a straight face, and determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reply, Trinity ignores him, and tries to continue her work. But when her hands hit the keys she realizes that she suddenly can't remember anything about the program she'd been writing. Self-consciously, she types a few lines of gibberish, all the while sensing his eyes on her.

Neo can tell that he's _very_ _close_: Trinity is either about to burst into laughter, or she's about to strangle him. After a moment of carefully weighing the odds, Neo decides that he is feeling lucky with her tonight. He will take his chances. Somehow, he can tell that Trinity's bark is worse than her bite (After all, she watered his plants, for God's sake… how dangerous could she be?). Besides, his only other option is to turn around and go to bed, and he'd much rather talk to her.

Neo exhales heavily, and nonchalantly leans his arm on the top for her headrest. It is time for his performance's grand finale:

"And now, after a _long_ day of training and being thrown off buildings, you've stopped talking to me? My _Ghost_ is giving me the cold shoulder?" Neo shrugs dramatically, turns his hands palm-up, and looks at the ceiling, as if to ask the gods for much-needed strength and patience. "Well, if that isn't just the _icing on the cake! _"

Trinity finally abandons her programming by forcefully shoving her chair back from the keyboard and practically leaping to her feet. She stands tall in front of him, hands on her hips, staring at him with a fiery mixture of irritation and amusement. She's too proud to let herself laugh, but can no longer bear to feign indifference. She wants to yell at him, but can't think of anything appropriate to say.

_I love it. I've programmed guns, grenades, plastic explosives, bombs… and the only thing that has ever exploded in my face is the damned bunt cake._

Her mouth opens to speak, but her jaw remains idly ajar for a few seconds. His broad, handsome smile holds her captive.

_You know, he never smiled like this in the Matrix._

His expression smug and silly and secretive all at the same time… she can tell that he's enjoying every moment of the conversation.

Finally, forcing her voice to be calm, "Neo… _please_ tell me that you aren't like this with poor Morpheus."

He looks at her as if very confused. "Why would I be like this with Morpheus? Morpheus didn't make me birthday cake. And I certainly hope that those weren't _his_ gloves." He fakes a comic mixture of shock and disgust.

In spite of herself, Trinity's face finally breaks into a stifled smile. She turns away from him, trying her best to regain composure, but she knows it is useless. The ridiculous expression on his face, coupled with the mental image of Moprheus in drag, has completely defeated her.

_Alright, fine. I give up. _

She looks back at him, and allows an honest smile to spread across her lips and shimmer in her eyes. "Tell me, did you _enjoy_ my cake, Neo? I wrote it myself."

"Slaved over a hot keyboard for hours?" He steps closer to her, absolutely delighted with his victory.

"Uh-hum."

"It was _marbelous_."

"You can stop now; I've _surrendered_." Trinity mumbles under her breath, still smiling. "No need to torture the P.O.W. at this point…"

"In that case, your cake was delicious."

"Good. Then, in that case, you're welcome."

There is a long pause in the conversation as the two of them stand face-to-face in the nearly pitch-black darkness of the Core, their bodies half-lit with the soft light of computer screens. Trinity is looking at some undefined point on the wall. Neo is tilting his head, trying to find her eyes, much the same way she'd done the night before. He is less successful in his endeavour, however, and eventually gives up.

"So… did you _enjoy_ the welcome mat, Trinity?"

"Oh, charming," she answers, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. She eyes the Operator's chair and wishes she hadn't been so rash to get up. Trinity feels naked just standing in front of him with nothing else to do. After a few moments of deliberation, she has an idea.

Abruptly, "Tell me. Have you seen the cockpit yet?"

"Uhm… no, I haven't."

"Terrible!" She scowls at him as if he'd just failed some sort of test. "A fine tour Morpheus gave you, hm? In such a hurry to _'throw you off buildings'_, and yet he didn't even introduce you to the _Ship_ properly." She clucks her tongue twice. "It's just bad manners."

Trinity turns and heads up the ladder. "You know, she's probably hurt."

"What? Who is?"

"The _Neb_." Already in the cockpit, Trinity peaks down the shaft at Neo's perplexed face. "I'm sure she'd love to finally meet you. That is, assuming I can't convince you to get some _sleep_?"

* * *

tbc... 


	11. CHAPTER NINE

**_a/n: Back by popular demand, I hope everyone likes it... _****_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter 9  
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199_**

When Neo reaches the top of the ladder, he sees Trinity is already in the Captain's chair.

"Go ahead," she says, nodding at the co-pilot's seat. "Saying 'hello' for the first time is always something… _special_." She turns on the map-lamp, and a dim, flickering light barely illuminates the tiny space. Her face tinged orange by the red indicator bulbs above her head, Trinity continues with nothing more than faint whispers in the near darkness. "You see, Neo… there are a few basic rules for surviving on this ship. The first, and most important, is _never_ to piss off the First Officer. It concerns me greatly that you have _repeatedly_ failed to achieve this first objective."

"What?"

"The First Mate on the Neb is effectively a head of staff, overseeing crew training schedules, duty shift assignments, shore leave… she is responsible for the well-being of the crew, both inside and outside the Matrix. That is, nobody makes it on a ship without having a good working rapport with this _very_ important individual. But you're a smart-ass, Neo. And you're untidy, which she _really._ _doesn't_ _like_"

Neo opens his mouth, but can think of nothing to say except, "Just so we're clear… _you're_ the First Officer, right?"

She frowns. "The _second_ priority of any new recruit is to have a good working relationship with the _ship_. Now, since I'm a _good_ First Officer, and feel a great degree of responsibility for my subordinates, I'm going to try and make sure that your first encounter with the Neb is smart-ass comment free. Because the Neb is like _me_, Neo. She doesn't like smug. She doesn't like puns. And she doesn't like sticky fingers, so wipe those off on your pants before you touch the controls."

Neo can't decide if he should be amused or insulted as he looks at his clean hands. He considers spitting on them and rubbing them together, knowing it would send her through the roof, but Trinity seems of profoundly serious, he doesn't dare. Instead, he takes his place in the co-pilot's seat and grips the controls, glancing over at his instructor uncertainly. She nods, seemingly satisfied with his compliance, and continues, her tone notably softer.

"Good. So those are your in-flight controls." He notices that she rubs her thumbs sensually over her own grips as she speaks. "You can't hold on to her too tight; better to be gentle with her. The Neb is a more temperamental ship than most, she doesn't answer well to being _handled_. Think of it more as… guiding her. Leading her. Like in a dance."

Neo hardly knows what to do. He doesn't dance. Trinity, who watched him for months in the Matrix, should know this better than anyone. In fact, when he thinks back on it, Neo is suspicious that the Red Queen dragged him out to that club purposefully to make him feel uncomfortable. Putty in her hands. And now, she is doing it again.

But Trinity seems to notice his trepidation, and with a sigh she says, "So it's dancing lessons, then? Alright, sit up straight in the chair first, bottom to the very back. Shoulders level, showing respect for the position you're in – it is normally _mine,_ after all. And just carefully rest your fingers in the grips. A hand shake. That's all we want. It's important that you two get comfortable before we start."

_Start what?_ Neo does not quite understand the significance of holding two joysticks in his hands, but he is too intrigued by the unusual exercise to do anything but follow directions. For some reason, her manner makes him want to please her, and it is a great source of satisfaction when she smiles and says, "There you go. That's how the pros do it."

"So the Neb approves?" he asks, grinning at his own small success.

"Oh, no. This is just for me."

He raises an eyebrow and nearly laughs. "Huh?"

"Now that I know you can handle it, I think we're ready."

"For?"

"You'll see. It's… a _surprise_."

How she did it with three quick phrases he'll never know, but Trinity has managed to transform the shabby cockpit into something mysterious… even _magical_. Like a child listening to his favourite bedtime story, Neo is captivated. Her voice… the secretive sparkle in her eyes… is somehow exciting and comforting at the same time. He watches her with interest as she begins to flick switches and enter parameters on her keyboard.

"This ship is one of the oldest in the fleet," Trinity says. "She's seen and survived three major battles, and has freed more minds in her career than any other vessel. Twelve pads. Top lateral speed of 70 MPH. And she's versatile – we can turn corners better than most of the smaller ships can… with all that, the Nebuchadnezzar used to be the envy of Zion's army." Trinity pauses, scowling at the blinking red lights on Neo's control grid. She taps at them once, twice, and then slaps the side of the panel. "Shit."

"_Used_ to be?"

Trinity gets up from her seat and leans across his chest to turn on his system controls. "No, no. Don't take your hands off… you two are _bonding_." The dancing fingers grace his keyboard as she continues. "Six years ago, the machines attacked Zion with an army of nearly seventy- thousand. Most of our resources were destroyed, thousands were killed. In the end, the Neb was the only ship that was actually salvageable. The new hovercrafts were built better, with newer technology. Practically speaking, this ship is a museum. They don't even manufacture parts for most of the hardware anymore. I have to make 'em from scratch."

While Trinity continues to fuss with his system controls, Neo finds himself becoming more and more distracted by their proximity. He can smell her hair from where he's sitting, and feel the heat from her body on his skin. As her delicate, feminine frame lingers over his lap, Neo notices the neck of her sweater has slipped over her shoulder, exposing a navy bra-strap on ivory white skin. He swallows hard.

_Jesus Christ, Trinity. What the hell are you doing to me?_

He remembers how beautiful he'd found her the night before, and his eyes fix on the slope where shoulder meets neck, jaw, up to earlobe. He leans closer. Neo has never felt comfortable around women before. In truth, he has never really felt _anything_ around women before. He could appreciate beauty, even sex-appeal, but it was always such a detached, unaffected observation, no more moving than the morning weather report. This is different. _She_ is different, perhaps because she is real, or because his senses are still hyperactive from so many years in the pod. But every subtle shift of her body catches his attention. His hands sweaty on the controls, he indulges in the thought of what it would feel like to press his lips against the smooth, pale skin only centimetres from his face. To bury his nose in her hair and slide his arms around her tiny waist.

_God, yes. _

The truth is that this strange, slender woman of the Real World, whose terrifying RSI had haunted him for weeks, is now an object of such profound fascinations for him, Neo can barely think of anything else. She is an unsolvable enigma, with her stoic blue eyes and no-nonsense attitude which seems to crumble at the most unexpected moments, Neo has to wonder if she isn't the least bit schizophrenic. But he can tell the rest of the crew trusts her, and respects her as the superior that he pretended he didn't know she was. And he trusts her as well, though he can't be sure of why. All he knows is, when she's close to him, it is the only time he doesn't feel alone.

"The army offered Morpheus an upgrade, of course. But he wouldn't have it - and I can't blame him. There was too much history between these bulkheads to say goodbye." Trinity stops what she is doing and sighs ruefully, "Sentimental fool that I am, right?"

"Hum?" Neo suddenly realizes that she's been talking to him. Cheeks flushing, he stammers, "Can I take my hands off yet?"

She shakes her head and rests her hand on his shoulder to help herself up. "No. I'm done… we can start. Although you could probably do with some more time alone with her. Not that she's shy… it's just… I have a feeling that it will probably take you a bit of extra effort to earn her _complete_ confidence."

"Really, why _me_ in particular?"

Remembering something Niobe told her long ago, Trinity remarks matter-of-factly, "She doesn't trust _men_."

Neo fights to hold back a chuckle, and fails.

_This woman is just… too much._

"Excuse me and what is funny?" Trinity folds her arms across her chest, though Neo is finding it more and more difficult to be intimidated by her, the only person who has even been able to make him laugh without trying.

Still grinning broadly, Neo remarks, "I'm surprised you let Morpheus the _man_ drive."

"Well, let's just say I have a certain _understanding_ with the Captain when it comes to the Neb. When her last engineer left to pilot another ship, she left me specific instructions not to let anything happen to her baby."

"You don't think you may be a bit overprotective?"

"Hardly. As it is, I'm barely able to keep her together. Morpheus-The-_Considerate_ likes to squeeze every bit of juice out of the batteries before even thinking of a tune-up. The poor thing's exhausted. Overworked, under maintained… she's just… barely holding it together."

Neo studies her face as she says this, and asks carefully, "You and the Neb are alike this way, too?"

"I'm a resistance fighter, Neo. A rebel." She smiles wanly. "That's what we do. We _barely hold it together_ every day."

"Sounds like a hard life."

"Yeah." She looks at him fixedly. "But it's a life."

"What about Zion? Where Tank was born?"

"What about it?"

"Well, aren't there… families there? Husbands and wives, mothers and daughters? Not everyone does this. Why do you?"

If she is uncomfortable with the question, Trinity doesn't show it. Buts she doesn't answer at first, either, staring out the windshield into the dark sewers. Finally, she says, "This crew is all I have. Morpheus, Switch, Apoch, the brothers… they're my family. I have no reason to stay in Zion."

"Nobody's…" and Neo trails off for a moment, trying to summon up the nerve to ask the question he'd been pondering for the past day or so. "There's nobody waiting for you back there, then?"

She suddenly looks stricken, as if he'd just delivered some terribly bad news. Neo is shocked to see such emotion in her face. "I'm sorry," he says quickly. "I shouldn't have asked you that."

"No, I…" She struggles for composure, and Neo imagines that perhaps she lost someone, and the wound is still fresh. "There isn't anyone," she whispers. "Not in Zion."

He leaves it at that, and waits for her to speak again, still wondering what kind of life she'd led for the past ten years. If the real world has made her any happier than the Matrix did. In this moment, Neo doubts it.

"Now, let's… uhm…" she begins anew. "Let's stop stalling and see if she likes you. Hold on." Trinity flips a series of switches and one large lever above her head.

Completely unexpectedly, a buzz resonates through Neo's chair and tickles his fingertips. He gasps at the sensation.

"You _feel_ that?" she asks, sadness gone from her voice, as if she is just as thrilled as he is with the Neb's sudden awakening. "You should feel it in the palm of your hand. If you don't, you're holding on too tight. Let her talk to you."

Neo can't help himself, and he suddenly begins to laugh. He relaxes his grip on the controls and leans back in the chair, with his head back. "Oh, _wow,_" he manages to say, still chuckling slightly. "That's… oh, _wow_. I've never felt anything like that."

She folds both arms on her armrest and leans towards him, as if about to tell him a secret. "So, Neo. What's she saying to you?"

"I uh…" He pauses and looks at her, his eyes wide with a kind of child-like wonder. "I don't know… it must be… untranslatable."

"Hmmm." Trinity likes his answer. "I don't tell anyone what she says to _me_, either."

Neo laughs again and nods, as if agreeing with a very witty observation, or indicating to her that he understands an inside-joke.

"Well, okay then. Lesson one." She points to each of the monitors she'd brought online. "Ship Scan, Temperature, Navigation, Docking…" She decides to skip the Sentinel Detection Module, and instead points to the red button on his left. "Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles."

"What?"

"That was…"

"A joke."

"There you go." She nods. "That's your Master Alarm… radio's up front, intercom: above your shoulder."

"Got it." He indicates the controls. "Permission to let go now?"

"Granted."

Neo relaxes, taking his hands off the grips, and turns to meet Trinity's eyes. "So, now tell me how you did it."

Somehow, from the tone of his voice, Trinity knows exactly what he's talking about. "Again with Kansas City! What is it with you fellows? I should really put an updated CV on the internet."

"I'd rather you just told _me_."

"Oh, it's an exclusive you're after?" She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap. For a second, Neo is hopeful that she intends to indulge him in details. Instead, "New recruits always want to hear that story. Do you know what I tell them?"

"No."

"Nothing. I've never told _anyone_ that story." Her eyes narrow and she smiles wickedly. "So, if I told _you_, it would be unfair to the rest of them, wouldn't it?"

"So to be fair, you clean their cabins, too?"

Trinity is caught for a second. _Goddammit_. "I'm never going to live that one down, am I?"

"Hey, you made my bed; now you have to sleep in it."

The sentence hadn't come out exactly as Neo had planned it, and an awkward silence passes between them as Trinity, with an unreadable, impassive sort of expression, soaks up the words. Neo waits nervously for her response.

"Actually, you're only off by a few years," she says coolly, deciding to let the innuendo pass. "I used to sleep in that bed. You've got my room."

"It's freezing in there."

"Oh, of _that_ I am aware." Trinity reaches up and flicks some switches, and Neo feels the soft vibration of his chair fade away. The monitors go blank. "But cold is good. It's like pain. Reminds you you're still alive."

"Hmm." Neo presses his hand against a dull pain at his shoulder that has been there all day. "I guess I can say I've never felt more _alive_."

Trinity scowls as she watches him massage the soreness from his back and neck. She knows the pain will probably get worse if he doesn't start working out. She should speak to Morpheus about getting him out of that chair a few hours a day.

"Hey, how are you holding up?"

When Neo glances over at her; somehow he can tell what she means. With a groan, "God, I don't know." He looks as if he is about to elaborate, but then he simply echoes, "I don't know."

After a long moment of debating about what she should say, Trinity says, "You planted a fist in the centre of Morpheus' face on your first day. It was… very impressive."

He frowns, unable to meet her eyes. "Then I fell off a building."

She flinches. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that."

"_You're_ sorry?"

She gets up from her chair and nudges his arm. "That was one of my programs. I'm sure it was… _gender_ biased. Totally my fault."

He smile and nudges her back. "We maybe you should jack in and show me how it's done. You know, with uh… _girl power_."

His flirtatious, quasi-condescending proposition makes Trinity want to drag him down to the Core and show him what real "girl-power" was. But she hesitates. He already had enough bruises for the day.

"Maybe some other time."

"Tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

Neo wonders what kind of sparring opponent she'd be, and finds himself trying to picture Trinity in that leather catsuit again. Long, lithe legs and corseted waist. Black sunglasses. For some reason, he has a difficult time picturing it now. He can't think of her without seeing those large, slightly melancholy, blue eyes.

"We should sleep. It's really late."

Neo snaps back from his reverie. "Yeah."

He watches her turn off the various systems she'd activated, still noticing every curve under the threadbare, shapeless clothing she wears.

"Can I walk you home?" he asks.

And she spins around, arching an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

"You didn't let me escort you to your quarters last night."

She blushes. And he grins at this, causing her to frown back. "I think I can find my own way," she says evenly.

"Oh." He nods and winks, as if understanding a secret meaning. "So you made my bed again?"

"No."

"Folded my clothes?"

"Neo. You're being…"

"A smart-ass?"

"Funny. I was going to say suicidal."

She is teasing him again. A good sign. He offers her his arm, a little startled by his own actions. "Please. Let me. I had a really good time tonight, Trin."

Trinity seems at a loss, and eventually surrenders with a sigh, gingerly threading her arm through his, and Neo beams with self-congratulations. He helps her down the ladder, which isn't necessary but she doesn't object, and they walk arm-in-arm to the crew's quarters.

She's quiet as they walk, not speaking, or even looking at him, but her arm remains resting on his, her hand gently gripping his bicep. In fact, she is rather preoccupied, looking around nervously as if to make sure none of the other crew members see them together. In fact, Neo is very surprised she had gone through with it in the first place, as he'd offered his arm, but hadn't expected her to take it in a million years. But here she was, walking in-step with him, their bodies in casual contact, and Neo is acutely aware that his pulse has more than doubled.

When they reach her door, he releases her and she turns to face him, finally looking up into his eyes with what appears to be curiosity. As if he'd just done something that was very peculiar, and she required some explanation. "Thank you, Neo," she says softly, leaning back against the door, lingering. "I uhm… you'll be alright tonight? With everything?"

"Yeah. It's getting better." He decides to let go of his nervousness and speak his heart. "You make it bearable. Your friendship, I mean."

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and there is a glassiness to her eyes that makes Neo think she is about to cry. But before he can say a word to try and comfort her, she reaches up and wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him into a gentle hug. He is startled, and places his hand on the small of her back, returning the gesture. Her body is surprisingly warm, and her embrace remarkably soft, and in that moment Neo is hopeful that perhaps, Trinity might care for him as something more than just another redpill.

"Goodnight," she whispers into his ear, slipping away as abruptly as she'd initiated the hug, gone behind her door in an instant. Neo is left staring at the grey metal, confused and strangely elated, still savouring the sensation of her breasts pressing against his chest.

They have known each other for two days, Neo realizes with a sigh. But he feels closer to her than he's ever felt to anyone. She is the only person who has ever seemed completely Real.

"Goodnight, Trinity," he says to her door with a thoughtful smile. "Sweet dreams."

* * *


	12. CHAPTER TEN

_**a/n: To all the fans who still like this story... thank you! This is the last chapter I have left over from my pile of scraps (polished of course). So if you all want more, I will oblige, but you MUST review, and if you like, I will accept requests or ideas - it's all up to you! **_

_**-Syd**_

* * *

_**Chapter 10**_

Trinity closes the door to her room, and rests her forehead against the cold, riveted steel.

_Oh, Neo._

She can still feel the warm sensation of his hand on the small of her back. She'd come close to kissing him in the hallway. Or he'd come close to kissing her. She can't decide anymore what had actually happened and what is only in her mind. Trinity doesn't know if she'd imagined the look in his eyes, or if she'd invented the sentiment in his voice. She has no idea what's Real anymore. The last time she felt this way, she was a battery in a power plant choking down a red pill…

_God, he's beautiful. He's so gorgeous. That smile… _

Trinity turns, leaning her back against the door. She slowly sinks to the ground, heart pounding.

_His face…his eyes…everything. _

The only thing that she can be sure of, the only _constant_, is how she feels. How she's always felt. She'd do anything for him, to keep him safe. Anything he needed, she would give. She'd felt it intuitively since the beginning.

But tonight, as Trinity sits on the cold floor of her cabin, clutching her sweater tightly around her, she realizes that something is different. Suddenly, this is no longer _just_ about _him_. In spite of all her pride, all her self-worth, all her independence, Trinity realizes that she needs something _back_. She _needs_ him to need her. She needs him to want her the way she wanted him in that hallway.

The idea that she is merely inventing his affection makes her feel nauseous. She blinks back tears.

_This isn't who I am. I don't know how to do this. Why is this being asked of me? Haven't I given enough?_

She knows that the three pieces, the Oracle's prediction, Morpheus' belief, and her own feelings all fit together perfectly. If the Prophecy is true, then this is what she is _supposed_ to feel. This is her Purpose.

_If the Oracle was right, if Morpheus was right…If I'm right about this…_

Suddenly, her thoughts are interrupted by a timid knock at the door.

"What?" Trinity wipes the wetness from her eyelashes and scrambles to her feet.

"Trinity?" It is Neo's voice. Trinity's heart leaps into her throat. "I need… to talk."

Her mind races as she smoothes her hair back behind her ears. He doesn't sound like himself. Something in his voice makes her panic.

_What's wrong? _

Nervously taking a deep breath, she opens the door. The look on Neo's face leaves her speechless.

_He's hurting; something horrible has happened. Oh, God what's happened?_

"Hi."

"Neo…"

He stands in the corridor, a lost, hollow look in his eyes. He stares down at the ground. For a moment it looks as if he will turn and walk away. But then he sighs, and pierces her face with deep, brown gaze.

"Do you know what this… is _supposed_ to feel like?"

Trinity looks at him open-mouthed for a moment, not understanding his question. Her instincts tell her to wrap him tightly in her arms, to _hold_ him, to caress his cheek with the back of her fingers. Her instincts scream for her to love him.

"Uhm…come in." She steps out of the way, motioning for him to step inside the room.

When Trinity turns from closing the door, she's surprised to find him standing very close to her, nearly pinning her against the cold steel. She can feel the warmth from his body on her skin.

"What I mean," he struggles to explain, "…is that _this_ has never worked for me before. _This_…_us_…" his voice trails off and he blinks back tears. He shakes his head in frustration. "Trinity, it's never felt _Real _before."

She hears her heart pounding in her ears. Trinity knows exactly what he means. His eyes are like two large mirrors, reflecting her years of frustration and loss back to her. She understands his pain like no one else could.

"I know."

She grips his shoulder with one of her hands, and places the other one on his chest. "Neo, I know… I'm…" She nearly cries, "_I'm so sorry_."

Neo touches the soft, delicate fingers resting on his chest, and then runs his hand along her arm. He finally rests his palm firmly in the small of her back. Instinctively, she inches closer to him until their bodies are touching.

She can feel his breath on her forehead as he speaks. "I've always wondered. I just always wanted to know. What it's like. To _feel _this_…_"

"I know," she whispers. His fingers lightly rub the smooth curve of her back. Trinity's fingernails dig into his shoulder. Their eyes connect in an unspoken agreement.

Neo takes her chin in his hand, cradling it between his thumb and index finger, and lifts her mouth to his. He kisses her gently; softly caressing her lips with his own. He feels her fingers brush his cheek, and then travel behind his ear. She cups the back of his neck and pulls him even closer.

With passion and tenderness, Neo presses his tongue against hers. Stifling a quiet moan, Trinity eagerly answers him by sucking at his lower lip, wanting to pull him completely into her, to swallow every drop of his heat, his strength, his soul. Everything.

"_Trinity_," he breathes. His arms are so strong around her, holding her, pressing her against him.

"Hm?" She pulls away just enough to playfully nudge her nose against his chin.

"I think I'm falling in love with you." He brushes some hair away from her face, and smiles.

_I know. I know you are. Neo…_

Trinity tries to say the words, but her chest feels tight, as if she were suffocating. She looks up at him, distressed. She can't breathe.

Neo grins. "Well, aren't you going to say something?"

Desperate for air, Trinity struggles from his arms, finding herself unable to scream out. She feels a cold sweat cover her face and chest.

Suddenly, the door to her cabin opens. Niobe leans in, and nods at Neo. "It's time to go."

Neo looks at Trinity for a moment, as if expecting her to say something. He then peers up at Niobe with uncertainty.

_Go where? Neo, you can't go with her. Why would you go with her? _

"I'm sorry, Trin, but I have leave." He touches her arm softly. "I'm taking The Word to the Machine City. To fulfill the Prophecy. Are you coming?"

_The Prophecy? But it's too soon for that. She promised me I'd have time…you can't go yet. We've only just begun… _

But, to Trinity's alarm, no words come from her mouth. She can't even move, her feet glued to the floor, freezing her like a statue. As she struggles to make sense of what is happening, her crystal blue eyes gape at Neo frantically, pleadingly.

_He's taking The Word to the Machine City. What does that mean? _

"Come on, Neo, there's nothing left for us here." Niobe steps right past the gasping Trinity and puts a hand on Neo's shoulder. "She isn't good enough. She never has been. Leave her here."

As Trinity glares contemptuously at Niobe, she is suddenly stricken with a horrifying realization.

_The Logos. It's the ship he's talking about. That's The Word. No, Neo, I have to tell you… don't take that ship… The Oracle warned me…_

Neo's eyes look at her with a desperate sadness, a deep Sorrow that cuts through her core like a razor. She'd seen this Sorrow before. But not in his eyes.

Neo turns to leave.

_No, Neo… don't. I don't want to stay here… I have to go with you. We're supposed to go together… because you're not coming back. _

* * *

Trinity awakes in a cold sweat, calling out and throwing the soaking sheets from her body. 

"Oh, no," she whispers into the dark, her breath coming out in heavy gasps, nearly sobs. "What was I doing? What was I thinking?"

The Oracle's terrible prophecy is ringing in her ears, strangling her heart. She doesn't want to believe it, but she can't deny what she knows. That he is special, there is something about him, beyond his awkwardness, his playful, boyish sense of humour… there's an innocence there that she never thought would ever come from one who has been in the fields. From one who has seen what he's seen. But beyond this, Trinity also knows that not only is he different. He has made _her_ different…

Trinity can only sit there in the cold night air, resting a hand on the thin wall that separates them. And another phrase spoken by the Oracle resonates in her thoughts…

_He's not going to get very far without you, Trinity. That kid's gonna need you. Lord, is he ever…_


	13. CHAPTER ELEVEN, PROLOGUE

a/n: alright, this is for those of you who are such great fans of the U.C., who are pushing for more Trin/Neo fluffies. The OC is not really a Neo/Trin love story, although their relationship is a major theme. The Last Exile is the answer for you guys, and so I am tryingto update it a little. Chapter 11 will be up soon - here is an introduction to it by our Rorie -

Enjoy!

-Syd

* * *

**_Prologue to Chapter 11  
Zion, circa 2219_**

I would like to say here, Reader, that it is not my intention to overemphasize the charming details of my parent's courtship (indeed, as their daughter, I must admit to a mild aversion to the topic altogether). However, it seems to me that if I am to please an audience, this is the subject that will precipitate the most interest. Indeed, in Zion, it is difficult to separate the names Neo and Trinity from the ideal of True Love, and for all those whose romantic life is lived vicariously, there can never be enough details to satiate the need. I am reminded of a particular occasion where I found myself in the position of comforting a heartbroken friend. As is often the case in these situations, she was leaning on my shoulder, tears and other unpleasant bodily secretions soaking the sleeve of my shirt, railing against the insensitive bloke who'd broken her heart. "Why can't more men be like your _father_!" she'd wailed into my neck, nearly causing me to choke on the comfort food we'd been sharing. "I'd do anything for a man like _that_! Where's _my_ hunky superhero? Where's _my_ Neo!"

And how was I to respond to that, I ask you? My initial impulse was to argue the point, and deliver an extensive list of all my father's less charming traits, beginning with his messy living habits (which still cause the occasional shouting match between him and my mother), and finishing with his terrible singing voice, which he used to force upon me in the form of lullabies, until I was old enough to explain to him that his version of Elton John's '_Your Song'_ was in fact the cause of my wailing, and not the remedy. But I had learned long ago that whatever personal information I release to my "friends" invariably ends up on the front page of a gossip magazine the following day, always with a few creative twists. And seeing as I didn't want my father reading about how his questionable obsession with Britain's most openly gay pop artist had driven his daughter to tears and his wife into a rage, I decided rather to fill my mouth with a very large scoop of sorbet, thus preventing any indiscretion.

But I suppose that is what this docudrama is all about. Setting the record straight. And surprisingly, my parents openly welcomed the opportunity to tell me what really happened. Perhaps they, too, are tired of the speculation, which is rather unpleasant at times. In particular, when it comes to the story of my parent's initial union, the common opinion of my mother is less than flattering. She was afraid of intimacy. She was terrified of loving. A cold, distant woman until Neo saved her from her stony prison of self-containment and romantic exile. Or something like that.

"No, Trin was _never_ cold," my father said to me, chuckling and shaking his head as if I'd just told a joke. "Well, she was never cold to _me_. Evasive, yes. But those eyes… they were always warm when she looked into mine. She couldn't hide that, not from me."

"So you knew?"

"Oh, no. I was clueless. I mean, sure I _thought_ about it... but every guy who meets Trinity _thinks_ about it…" his eyes wandered over to my mother, who was obligingly making dinner, chopping rather loudly to signify her desire for some help. Knowing better than to antagonize her while she held a sharp object, Dad came up from behind and slid one arm around her stomach, the other over hers on the knife. I don't know what he whispered, but whatever it was made her giggle and try to shrug him off. Mom's eyes were shining when she looked over at me.

"I can't imagine how he _didn't_ know. Everyone else did, for goodness sakes. I made his bed. And I gave him a quasi-erotic introduction to hovercraft operations."

"I _knew_ you were turned on by that!"

"I am still standing here!" I announced irritably. "And I'm not writing that in: _By the way, Reader, my mother was aroused by the buzzing of the Neb's pads in the cockpit_."

"She leaves out all the magical parts of the story," was my father's observation, to which I rolled my eyes.

"Let's take a step back, shall we?" I said, walking over to the chopping block and casually taking a few slices of mushroom. In a complicated manoeuvre, my mother fluidly spun the blade in her hand a few times, not even looking at her fingers but rather at me (in my household, this means 'stop that; you'll spoil your supper'). I swallowed and continued with my hands in the air. "What did you mean by 'everyone else knew'?"

"Oh, your poor father was the only one who didn't, by the end."

"The Oracle told me I quote, '_wasn't too bright_.'" Dad admitted with a shrug. "Well, excuse me, I've been unplugged less than a month, and I'm supposed to decrypt _Trinity, _the queen of mixed signals. Oh, and while I'm at it, can I please be The One and stop by the Source for humanity's salvation?"

They both laughed at this, as if they weren't talking about the rather grave task of saving the entire human race. If I haven't mentioned it earlier, Reader, let me tell you, my parents are both very twisted individuals, and even though I was not born at the time, I'm sure that with the city in their hands, it was a very close call.

"Well, I know already that Morpheus knew," I said. "But what about the others?"

Mom seemed a little taken aback. "What do you mean by that… you already know that Morpheus knew? What did he say?"

"Sorry. I have to protect my sources."

"_Aurora_." The knife did another elegant summersault, as if this were supposed to intimidate me. Still, I wanted Mom to continue with our story, so I gave in and recalled a file on my computer from my interview with Morpheus (who, I might add, is a much easier subject from whom to extract information; may he consider me truly grateful).

I quoted Morpheus with the slightly grandiose cadence with which he always spoke when he talked of either of my parents. "Looking back on the reality of Trinity's situation, I realize she must have been frightened. And I do not use that term lightly - I have known your mother most of her life, Aurora, and she is a remarkably fearless woman. But for your father's life, she was certainly afraid. Yet through the haze of that anxiety, it was evident to those of us who knew her that there was something about Neo that gave her an indefinable joy. He made her happy, if only in those isolated moments when your mother allowed him to do so. I was in awe of the change in her, the subtle light that shone in her eyes when she watched him. And if I had any doubts as to your father's ability to fulfill the Prophecy, they were gone when I observed his affect on your mother. A heart such as hers could not have loved anyone less."

When I looked up form my work, I was shocked to see that my mother's eyes were sparkling with the beginnings of tears. She blinked them back quickly and went back to her chopping, and I listened to her rhythm for what seemed to be a long time before my Dad said, "It's ironic, that it was that joy I fell in love with. The sound of her laughter. How was I supposed to know it was a sound the crew had never heard before?"

* * *


	14. CHAPTER ELEVEN

* * *

**_Chapter 11  
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199_**

Neo's eyes blink open and he is staring at the metal wall, a few rusted rivets only inches from his face. For the first time in a week, he isn't surprised to see them. In fact, the dents and scrapes on the wall, etched through flaking paint and makeshift rustproofing seem almost familiar to him, like home.

As he does every morning, he eases himself up with some difficulty; his muscles are still stiff and sore from an ironic combination of training, and not actually moving all day. He brushes a hand over his head, growing used to the prickling at his fingertips and the plug in his skull. And as he does this, his eyes read over the well-known words that are carved into the steel just above his pillow.

**- Come, my friends,  
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.  
Push off, and sitting well in order smite  
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds  
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths  
Of all the western stars, until I die **

**It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:  
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,  
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.  
**

**Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are: **

**One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will **

**To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. **

**Nebuchadnezzar, 2189 - To The Trinity. May she always know**

**That which _she_ is**

**She _is_**

Neo thoughtfully rubs his fingers over the jaggedly-slices letters. There is something about this poem that affects him more deeply every time he reads it, though he cannot fully identify the reason for his persisting interest. At first it was just the mystery of it that had attracted him. It was a relic of Trinity's past life when she'd occupied this cabin, and Neo had to wonder at who had written this for her. A past lover, one who had shared this bed with her, a long time ago? A man who knew her heroic heart well enough to immortalize its 'equal temper' onto the unyielding metal of her cabin wall in a wildly romantic gesture of devotion?

But as the days went by, Neo gradually came to realize that he'd missed the point. It is the poem itself that is most engaging. Each day he spends on this ship, he understands it a little more. It is a call to arms, a battle cry beaconing old and tired soldiers to an impossible mission. _"To sail beyond the sunset… until I die." _

He shivers at the chilling realization that he is sailing with them. That their nearly suicidal mission is now his own. And as inspiring as the final few lines are, Neo cannot match the steely resolve expressed by the poet. He'd seen the agents. He'd seen the sentinels. And the crew had told him all he needed to know about their odds. They were on the losing side of the war, and new minds like his didn't last long out here.

At precisely five minutes to six, Neo hears Trinity stir on the other side of the wall. He has to smile. Right on time. Indeed, one of the more engaging distractions from his insomnia has been to memorize the First Officer's sacred routine, and never has he known someone as neurotic as Trinity. At 5:55 every morning, the mattress will creak, and she'll make the bed (he can tell because she's a tucker, and the box spring will moan again as she lifts each corner to whip the covers underneath). And she's remarkably fast. He'd timed her once, and the job was done in eleven seconds. By the twelfth second the water was running, and by the time a minute was up, she was on her way out.

But beyond this, she is a mystery. He's never followed her down the hall, though for the past few days he has toyed with the idea. They haven't spoken much since that night in the cockpit, and he's begun to yearn for her company again, much as he had when she'd stopped haunting his apartment in the Matrix. To get her attention, he'd teased her a few times, hoping to provoke some sort of response. First, he'd done the obvious thing and bent her spoon, which she didn't acknowledge. Nor did she bend it back to its natural conformation, eating her slop at every meal with a warped utensil and a flawlessly impartial expression on her face. He couldn't tell if it was part of her game, or if she genuinely hadn't noticed. Frustrated, Neo then upped the ante by preparing her dinner one evening when she was scheduled to work the graveyard shift, leaving the gift by the operator's chair for her to find, crooked spoon and all. But when he'd seen her subsequently, Trinity had politely thanked him for the gesture, but asked him not to trouble himself again, as she preferred not to set a bad example by eating near the computers.

In short, she'd broken up with him. She'd tossed him aside and doesn't he know that Trinity is probably moving on at this very moment, wafting though the life of the next target, the next Tom Anderson, confusing him, terrifying him, tormenting him with her unearthly tricks (the lucky bastard).

At the thought of this anonymous rival poddie, Neo throws the covers off his body and hurries into his clothing. He can't let it happen. He won't stand back while she silently slips through his fingers, baking cakes and god knows what for some other battery. And yes, he knows he's being ridiculous. But the truth is he misses her, and having never really missed anyone in his entire life, Neo feels he's entitled. He has spent thirty five lonely years in the Matrix. Not again. Not this morning.

He practically marches down the hallway, mustering his nerve with every step towards the mess hall. Good morning would be an appropriate greeting, he decides. And oh, did you notice the bent utensil? So nice of you to do me the courtesy of bending one back. I have two perfectly straight sporks in my dish-bag, for goodness sakes, Trin. Would it have killed you to deform at least one of them? How can you be so cold? Was it something I said?

But at the sight of her sitting at the table, all concerns about cutlery instantly dissolve from his brain. She is sitting Indian-style in a chair, typing on a laptop computer, mug of steaming liquid in one hand. Her short hair is damp, wetness lacing her hairline, and a few errant drops dew her bare shoulders. He has never seen her without a sweater on, and the tight, thin-strapped top shows off the striking muscle tone of her arms and the ivory perfection of her skin. Apparently, her RSI isn't 'all ego,' as Cypher had snidely claimed.

As Neo stares, she looks up from her work, eyes alert and intense, even at this hour. "Neo. Are you alright. Is there anything you need?"

Oh, yes. There is something he has needed for a very long time, and suddenly Neo is painfully aware of the fact. Ever since he got here, Trinity has been reawakening his long-abandoned desire for physical intimacy, in a way no woman ever had in the Matrix.

He idly wonders if sex is any better in the real world, and that thought branches to the unpleasant realization that technically, he's a virgin. "Shit."

"What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Aren't you cold?" Please, put something on and stop torturing me, for God's sake.

She looks down at her scantily dressed state and shrugs, running fingers through her hair and rubbing to dry it a little more. "I'm used to it. Wakes me up. Speaking of which, what are you doing out of bed? As I recall, you're a late sleeper."

He frowns. As she _recalls_. As if it weren't only a month or so ago that she'd reset his alarm to keep him from being late for work. Now a distant, trivial memory. "That was _Tom_," he insists.

"Ah." She raises her eyebrows, and goes back to her screen in a gesture of scepticism. This smugness bothers him, and he takes a seat opposite her and stares, hoping Trinity will look up to see his distaste. But she doesn't, and this irritates Neo even more.

"_Tom_ slept in every morning," he states evenly, in a voice he didn't even know he had. "And _Tom_ spent all of his time shuffling around in a one room apartment. He didn't have friends, and he didn't like his coworkers. And Tom never, _ever_, approached beautiful women."

Her sapphire eyes snap up from her work, and once he is satisfied he has her attention, he holds out his hand. "My name is Neo."

Her mouth is slightly open as she gapes at his offer for an introductory shake. He knows he has surprised her, an in fact he has surprised himself. He secretly congratulates himself for finally saying something a little more suave to her than 'I thought you are a guy.' And though she hasn't taken his hand, she is beginning to smile, either because she is nervous, or embarrassed, or maybe he has just made a fool of himself and he doesn't know it. All three are equally probable in his mind.

"Heya, Trinity."

They both jump at the sudden greeting as Mouse scurries into the room. "Oh, and hey _Neo_. So, what are _you two_ doing up together?" He chuckles at this, as if he has just said something very clever. "And you look radiant as always, Trinity… must be that new cucumber and ginger face mask you put on at bedtime…"

"_Excuse_ me?" She shoots the young man a dangerous glare.

"Just proving a point, Trin." Mouse holds up his hands and glances at Neo. "You see, she doesn't like to be bothered in the mornings. We all keep away. It's sort of... an unspoken ship rule. Sorry, buddy. Should have told ya about that one. None of us thought it would be an issue, though, what with you being such a late sleeper and all."

Neo exchanges a look with Trinity, whose smile has blossomed completely at this last statement. "No, Mouse. That was _Tom_," she says, eyes locked with Neo's as she corrects Mouse's mistake. "You see, the man sitting across the table from me is _Neo_. He gets up early all the time, and apparently has no trouble approaching beautiful women."

Neo can't believe she just repeated that, her voice matter-of-fact as if she doesn't know perfectly well that he was talking about her. _She_ is beautiful. Especially with that clever smirk on her lips.

"While we're on the subject, are there any other upgrades to your personality you'd like to inform me about, Neo?" she asks, casually sipping from her mug while never looking away from him. Her eyes laugh for the first time in days, and Neo's heart skips a beat.

Meanwhile, Mouse is pouring himself a mug of hot water. "Well, he's gotten pretty good with the jujitsu," he remarks. "Outwitted Morpheus a few times. Captain thinks he'll be able to go toe to toe with an agent eventually-"

"_Mouse_." She frowns at him, and Mouse instantly realizes he'd erred, and mumbles something resembling an apology.

"All I meant was, he's _good_," the young man stammers, his round, murine eyes wandering over to Neo's, and they sparkle with an unwelcome glimmer of hope.

"You are scheduled for oh-six hundred in the core," Trinity reminds him. "If you run, you might only be four minutes late."

As he curses, checks his watch and scurries away, Trinity sighs and closes her computer. "If he weren't one of the best programmers available, I'd use him for sentinel bait."

Neo chuckles half-heartedly, still a little shaken by Mouse's apparent reverence for him. It is becoming more common these days. Every time he has a particularly inspired match with Morpheus, the crew takes notice, and he has even caught Switch glancing at him with latent admiration. And she doesn't even _like_ him.

"You alright?" Trinity asks.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't think I'm quite ready to push off and _smite the sounding furrows _just yet."

Trinity cocks her head curiously to one side. "Where have I heard that?"

"The poem in your room. _Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows…_"

Recognition dawns on Trinity with a small gasp. "Oh," She smiles sadly to herself. "I'd almost forgotten about that. It's from _Ulysses_. Tennyson wrote it."

"Were you two close?"

She blinks once and then chuckles. "Hardly. Alfred, Lord Tennyson died in 1892. We never met."

Neo feels his cheeks burn. "Oh."

"It's alright. I didn't have a clue who he was either. I'm not one who studies English poetry. Hate the stuff. But I know someone who loves it…. Or, at least, I used to."

She has a nostalgic look in her eyes, and Neo can sense she has lost something very valuable. He can sense that she's hurting. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have-"

"That which I am, I am… isn't that what it says? The Trinity is what she is?"

"Yeah."

She chuckles and shakes at her damp hair again. "Always with the philosophic bullshit. Tell me if you ever figure that out, will you? Ten years later, and it still baffles me."

As she says this, Neo doesn't quite believe her. It's in her manner, the way she moves and speaks. The Trinity knows what she is. And if _she_ doesn't, there sure as hell can't be any hope for the rest of them.

"You know, what he said about the sparring," Neo ventures, "well, I have been working an awful lot with Morpheus. The Captain suggested I might try a new partner. For something different."

"Oh." Again, the tone is innocent, but he knows she understands what he means.

"The crew tells me that you're good."

She laughs at this and rises from her chair. "Yes, I've been known to send Morpheus running for cover once or twice. But that's only given the proper motivation."

"So I have to taunt you."

"No, you've more than amply accomplished that by ruining every fork and spoon I own."

"So you did notice. I was starting to worry that you'd… you know..."

"Gone blind?"

"Gotten bored of me?"

"Hmm." Trinity looks away and shakes her head. "No, I'm not bored. But we'll see what you can do when you're jacked in. Nineteen hundred, tonight."

"Alright, then."

"One piece of advice." She picks her sweater up from the back of her chair and threads her arms through the sleeves. AS she steps out of the mess hall, Trinity says over her shoulder, "Don't be late. You're going to want to get a head start on me."

He scowls confusion. "I didn't realize I'd be racing you."

"Oh, you're not." Her grin is almost predatory. "But you'll be doing one hell of a lot of running."

* * *


	15. CHAPTER TWELVE

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 12**_

Trinity leisurely walks into the core at ten minutes to seven, reading over the ship's monthly inventory report with mild concern. They are running rather low on medical supplies. Plasma. Saline. Acetaminophen. She clucks her tongue twice while doing some quick accounting in her mind. "God, Neo. What a mess you've made of my budget."

It has become a habit of hers. Speaking to him when he isn't even around. Sometimes, Trinity can even imagine what his answer would be to her comments. 'Oh, I'm sorry Trin. Did I use up too many transfusions? Well, that was _bloody_ inconsiderate of me.' She chuckles. He really is quite funny sometimes.

Trinity freezes when she glances up to see Mouse, Dozer, Switch and Apoch, all standing around the operator's chair, staring at her. "May I help you, crewmen?" she asks, willing the smirk off her face and arching an eyebrow.

"You were laughing." Switch says it as if laughter were the most objectionable sound in the world. Then her lip curls slightly. "Oh, yes, you were. And talking to yourself."

Trinity looks around at the other officers, who are all showing similar hints of amusement on their faces. This isn't good at all. "What are you all doing here?" she asks evenly.

"We heard that you're fightin' Neo," Mouse announces.

Ah, so that's it. "And from _where_ did you hear that?"

Mouse bites his lower lip and looks away with a shrug. They both know he'd lingered outside the mess hall this morning to eavesdrop, and then ran to tell everyone that Trinity was finally giving in to Neo's repeated requests for a sparring match with the Red Queen. It's too bad, Trinity thinks, that they won't get what they came for.

"A shame you're all so busy tonight," she says. "But as I recall, you have those jobs I posted on the duty chart. Which _may_ have gone suspiciously missing again, but that isn't a problem, because I memorized it this time."

None of them seem surprised, and Trinity catches a few eyes rolling as the men disperse. Switch lingers behind, her back to the others as she leans in close and murmurs, "Breaking your own rules, hm? You _never_ spar with the newborns."

Trinity smirks and replies calmly, "You needn't give me that look. I have no intentions of fighting with anyone. It's my night off, you know."

She makes some final corrections to the paperwork and signs it, all the while aware that her friend is studying her knowingly. Between the only two women aboard the Nebuchadnezzar, there are many secrets, but their equally deep feelings for the men with whom they are in love are not among them. "What the hell have you got planned, then?"

"A Caribbean cruse."

"Uh-huh. You wish."

Trinity sighs. "If you _must_ know," she whispers, "I've planned a very educational evening of mentally challenging exercises which are both instructive and recreationally stimulating."

"He won't be happy unless you fight him. They never are."

"You don't fight with Apoch. What you two do is just very rough foreplay." Trinity glances over Switch's shoulder to see Neo and Tank walking towards them. "And I'm sure once I explain my methodology to Neo, he will agree with me that my choice of activity is much more appropriate and _fun_ than a self-gratifying tumble around the dojo. Which he'd ultimately lose, anyway."

"What's this about my _losing_?" Neo asks as he joins them, folding his arms across his chest and grinning smugly. "I think maybe _someone_ is a little overconfident. And don't think I'll go easy on you because you're a woman."

"Sure you don't want to reconsider your plan?" Switch asks her. "I think he needs an ass-kicking as much as you need a _self-gratifying tumble_."

Trinity ignores the innuendo and continues to stare her cocky adversary straight in the eye. "No, I think I know exactly what this one needs." She turns and slaps the disk she's brought with her into their hard drive. "Tank. Load us up."

* * *

Trinity sits Indian-style in Morpheus' old red leather chair, rotary-dial telephone off the hook on the table in front of her. She has quickly grown annoyed by the ringing, which she'd programmed to be the default setting long ago, never imagining she'd have to listen to it for so long. She glances at her watch and sighs, rising to her feet to glance out the window of room 303. Down below, traffic is barely moving in the afternoon rush, which is made worse by the pouring rain. She opens the window and leans her head out under the awning, rapping her fingers impatiently on the sill for a minute or so until she finally spots a man pushing through the crowd on the sidewalk. He is obviously in a rush, bumping into almost every pedestrian, and causing a few men to curse at him, which he answers with a few creative obscenities of his own. He doesn't relent in his mad dash towards the building until he collides with a woman pushing a baby carriage, which topples over. The mother's cry makes him stop purely on instinct, and he hesitates for a moment before cursing again and sprinting away. 

"Oh, Neo. _Neo_. What the hell am I going to do with you?"

It takes another minute or so for him to burst through the door behind her, soaking wet and panting. Trinity pauses the coach's stopwatch hanging around her neck and examines his time with disappointment.

"Ten oh-seven. That's twenty seconds _longer_ this time from Greene and Pine to Wells and Lake."

He has his hands on his knees, a puddle on the floor beneath him. "It's _raining _this time."

"Yes, I see that."

"Why does it have to be raining while I do this?"

"It's a rainy time of year in Chicago."

"Jesus Christ, Trinity!"

"What? You think agents take the rainy days off?" she raises her voice slightly, which is unlike her. But they've been at this all evening, and he isn't _getting_ it. "And stop being so concerned with the goddamned _pedestrians_. They. Aren't. Real."

"In the Matrix they are."

"Anyone still connected to the System is potentially an agent. God, isn't Morpheus teaching you anything? Or are you two too busy sword-fighting? It's all bullshit unless you can get your ass to an exit in one piece."

He wipes water from his face and takes off his heavy wool coat, shaking it a few times. "Well, I've been running from exit to exit for over an hour now, Trin. And I haven't seen a single agent."

"You aren't ready for that yet. You can't even make it past the baby carriages. And let this be a lesson for your RSI. Don't wear absorbent clothing. Waterproof _always_. Rubber-soled shoes. _Lightweight_ weapons. You're carrying around your body weight in ammo. It's useless, don't you get it? Speed. Stealth. _Cunning_. That's what will keep you alive in there."

"Speaking of RSIs, I like how you dressed up for me."

Trinity looks down at her comfortable black cords and cotton T shirt. She also wears a tattered red baseball cap with a _Montreal Canadiens_ logo on the front. "It's my night off. I perfected my footwork a long time ago."

"Brilliant."

He is pacing now, and she slumps back into the armchair, equally exasperated. "Again. You'll do it again until you get it right."

"I'm calling Tank. I want out."

She feels her face burn. If there is one thing she hates, it's a quitter. "Look, if you can't _handle_ this-"

"And maybe I can't! Maybe I'm just not cut out to be the warrior you're all expecting. Is that my fault? Do I even have a choice? _Excuse me_ if I'm not up to saving everyone's asses in this goddamned war!"

His voice booms through the room and Trinity doesn't flinch, or even blink as he yells at last words at the top of his lungs. She hates whiners, too. And self-pity. Especially from him. _Her_ Neo is so much more than that.

"Save every one else's ass?" she says softly, evenly. "I've got news for you, soldier. I don't need _you_ to save _my_ ass. My only concern is that you can't even take care of your own. Forget the Prophecy, if that's what's fucking you up. Because I swear to God, Neo, if you die on me in there, I'll kill you."

They stare at each other for a long beat at it occurs to them both that what she'd just said didn't quite make sense. With her eyes, she dares him to laugh. He doesn't, but his expression softens, the unspoken humour alleviating much of the tension between them.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know you're trying to help."

She wishes she could stay angry at him for longer than ten seconds, but the sincerity of his apology and sentiment in his voice does something to her over which she has no control. If it would do him any good, she'd run the whole damn thing for him twenty times over.

"Look," she sighs, leaning back in the chair. "I don't know what the hell Morpheus and the crew have been telling you. But here it is. You're _human_. And nobody is born knowing how to do this shit. You learn; you start with the basics. You need to walk before you can run."

The corner of his lip curls. "I _am_ running."

She smiles back. "Then, you need to _run_ before you can _fly_."

"Fly?" He raises his eyebrows. "Is that where you're going with this?"

"The sky's the limit, solider."

They look at each other for a long time, sharing a comfortable silence. "Run with me," Neo says finally. "It gets lonely by myself."

She shakes her head. "You wouldn't be able keep up with me."

"I've had a lot of practice tonight."

"I've been practicing for ten years."

This seems to give him an idea. "So my goal is to match you?"

"I'd be damned impressed if you even came close."

"Enough to give me a passing grade for the night?"

She frowns. "If you think I'm letting you out early…"

"No, no. Tank lets us out at midnight." He checks his watch. "So in about an hour. If I beat you, then no more running, and we get to do whatever I want for the rest of the time. If not, I'll run the entire circuit through a snowstorm."

"You won't win."

"Then you should have no problem with shaking on it?"

It is the second time he holds out his hand to her that day, and this time she takes it. Trinity then makes a phone call to ask Tank to clear up the weather. Off Neo's look, she shrugs and explains, "I'm not wearing my PVC. And I have no intentions of running down the street in a wet T-shirt."

"I should have worded that into the deal."

"Hey, if you win, you can do what you like. _Drench_ me," she says, wholly unconcerned. "Now, the exit is on the thirty-third floor of the skyscraper on Clint and Main, east side. Suite twenty-four. Sound familiar?"

"Tom's work address."

"Yes. I'm giving you the home-team advantage. Use any and all means to get there. Feel free to take risks, because the construct safeties are all on. So if we're automatically booted out, I'll know you got yourself run over by a stroller or whatever."

"Or _you_ were shot in the back with exactly my body weight in ammunition."

She chuckles. "The phone will be in your cubicle."

"_Tom's_ cubicle."

Trinity slides her sunglasses on and looks out at the bright, sunny sky. "Are you gonna talk all night, or what?"

She turns back to look at him with a condescending arch of her eyebrow, but much to her chagrin, Neo is already gone.

* * *

Trinity scowls. "Okay, cheater." And rather than following him down the hall, she climbs out the window and onto the fire-escape, executing an elegant back flip to land herself in the ally behind the hotel. She scans the street quickly. Come on, Motorcycle. Motorcycle. 

Seeing none, she curses and then rushes around the block, colliding with Neo as he comes around the same corner in the opposite direction. "Hey, Trin. Do you know what time the bus comes?"

Trinity can't suppress a laugh at this as he comically checks his watch and rushes away, sprinting down the sidewalk and into the crowd. "You'll be doing it in snowshoes pretty soon," she says, again speaking to him as if he were still standing there. When she spots a dark purple Ducati parked right in front of the hotel entrance, she shakes her head at him. "When this is over, I've got to teach you to always look for the _bikes_ first."

Trinity is infamous for her driving, as much as Niobe is for her piloting or Ghost is for his gunning. Even if Neo does find himself a ride, he'll never catch her. Agents can't even catch her on a motorcycle. And so she is quite relaxed as she swings her leg over the seat and when the owner rushes over, yelling at the top of his lungs, she breaks his neck and takes the keys. "Pansy," she comments, wondering what kind of a man buys a purple bike. She makes a mental note to change this inconsistent detail in the program, revving up the engine and speeding towards the freeway.

She is just boarding the onramp when she hears sirens behind her. "What the?" Trinity turns, surprised the police have caught up to her so quickly. She is ordered to pull-over, which is of course ridiculous, though when they begin to shoot at her, she wishes she'd thought to grab the matching purple helmet her victim had clipped to his belt.

Her cell phone rings. Weaving in and out of traffic, she reaches into her back pocket and answers, thinking it's Tank calling to give her help. Surely, he is on her side.

"Hey, Trin."

It's Neo. A bullet shatters rear view mirror and she cuts between two SUVs, causing one to swerve and smash into a truck. Neo's next words are lost in the deafening racket of a five care pile up.

"What? Neo, I can't talk. I'm a little…" She is almost embarrassed. "What do you want?"

"I missed the bus, so I hailed a cab." And Trinity glances over when she hears a car honking at her from two-lanes over. Neo waves from the backseat as the cabby drives almost as recklessly as she is. She curses herself for being so anal about her program's being authentic. "Anyhow, I noticed your little run in with the law. Too bad about that. Some concerned citizen must have ratted you out."

A few more bullets zoom by her head and her heart sinks. "You called the cops on me?"

He laughs.

"You son of a-"

"Hey, look out!"

She gasps, only barely avoiding a concrete divider. "Bitch!" she finishes her thought. "When I'm done with you, you'll be _hypothermic_, Neo!"

"I wouldn't be so sure. You know, you might want to pull over onto the shoulder before you stall in the middle of the road. I wouldn't want to see you run over."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I knew you'd grab that bike, right? So when I left the hotel, I used some of my ample firepower to shoot a few holes in your gas tank. I'm not sure how much is left, but you're leaking gasoline pretty bad from what I can see out here."

Trinity checks her instruments. The fuel gauge is reading less than empty. "You… you're trying to kill me!"

He laughs again. "No, of course not. I only want you arrested. Fingerprinted. Maybe a mug shot as a memento. If we get booted out, I won't get my sparring match, so don't go dying on me. Or I swear to God, Trin, I'll kill you."

She practically growls at him though the phone, but he continues as if he hadn't even noticed. "Anyhow, it occurs to me I'm late for Tom's weekly staff meeting at Metacortex. You know, I think I'm gonna shoot all my coworkers when I get there, just to celebrate."

He hangs up, and Trinity is so angry she yells out and throws the phone. She can practically hear Tank laughing at her from the core. If anyone else is watching this, she would kill Neo. She'd underestimated him, she realizes, shaking her head and struggling to maintain control of the motorcycle as the engine begins to give out. Soon she is surrounded by police officers, her hands in the air. She counts quickly, twenty five. This is going to cost her at least five minutes.

* * *

Police motorcycles are made better, anyway, Trinity thinks as she dons a helmet and presses her old Dr. Martin to the foot clutch of one of the dead officers' bikes. In a few fluid, dare-devil manoeuvres, she makes up for lost time, weaving through oncoming traffic to reach the quickest route to Clint and Main. She is remarkably effective when riding on a full tank of gas, and is pleased to arrive at the entrance to the tower just as Neo's cab screeches to a halt across the street. She watches Neo jump out from the back seat, and he is about to run towards her when the huge cabby also gets out and appears to give him a hard time about the fare. Neo shoots him and Trinity rushes through the revolving glass doors. Neo's cold blooded murder was committed more in desperation that anything else. She has already won. 

The elevator chimes open and she steps inside, smiling and waving at Neo as he enters the lobby and yells out, "Hey, hold the elevator!" She chuckles as the doors whoosh shut, and she presses number 33. Trinity is still smiling by the time the lift hits floor 20, but just then, the ascending sensation abruptly stops, and the lights flicker.

"_No_. What did you do?" She punches the button to open the doors, but she is trapped between floors. Then she hears the fire alarm. "No, no, no!"

To add insult to injury, the sprinkler goes off, drenching Trinity in her T shirt before Neo has even declared victory. She laughs at the irony, hands on her hips, and then jumps up to knock the tile from the roof of the elevator. In short order, she is in the shaft, climbing the emergency ladder to exit via the next floor. She rushes through office cubicles and follows the crowd of equally wet accountants to the main stairwell. In her haste she bursts through the door and collides again with Neo, who is also on his way up.

"You!" she screams out, lunging at him. "Come here!"

Neo chuckles and doges out of the way, taking three stairs a time and he only barely escapes her wrath. Both of them are now determined to win, and Neo and Trinity remain nearly side-by-side, pushing, clawing, shoving and laughing their way to the thirty-third floor. They practically tumble over each other as they tear through reams of evacuating people heading in the opposite direction, hearing the phone ringing as they arrive at the software programming department of Metacortex Inc.

The entire floor is now empty, except for the two of them, perfectly in step as they sprint for the phone. They fight and scramble for it, and the eventual outcome is Neo holding up the receiver in victory, and Trinity clinging to the rest. They are both panting and soaking wet, and they stare at each other as the sprinklers continue to rain down on them.

He begins to laugh in earnest, and she isn't far behind.

"I won," he yells over the alarm.

"I've got the hard-line!" she says back, holding up the cable.

"No, I'm talking about your top."

She gasps, and peels the thin cotton from her chest, leaning forward in an ineffective attempt at modesty.

"And I think I've earned my sparring match."

She nods. "Oh, I think so." And faster than he can react, she grabs his arm and twists, striking him hard in the stomach. "Jerk."

He answers with a punch of his own, which she blocks, and manages another hit, flowed by a kick, performed as she gracefully leaps into the air and holds position, a technique Neo has yet to master. He flies into the wall, falling to the ground in a heap. He's still smiling, but holds up his hand to signal surrender. Trinity arches an eyebrow, surprised he would give up so quickly. Indeed, now she really _wants_ to fight with him.

"Let's get out of here," he says, looking around the ruined office. "I hate this goddamned place."

She agrees, and when they step out of the building into the welcome heat of the mid afternoon sun, Neo checks his watch. "Well, we have half an hour."

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Trinity takes on a fighting stance. "Okay. You won. Come on, then. Show me what's got Morpheus all excited."

"I won? I thought you had the hard-line."

"No, no. The receiver is what counts. Congratulations. You wanted to spar with the Red Queen? You got it, Neo. Right here, right now. You and me. To the death."

"It's because I called the cops on you, isn't it? That's why you're mad?"

"Mad? No, I'm not mad… I'm _furious_!" But even as she says it, she is smiling. "But only becuase I didn't think of it myself. Goddamned _genius."_

"I was inspired."

"By?"

"A nice swift kick in the ass. By a good friend of mine, who wouldn't let me quit. And provided… other motivations as well, but… anyway." He smiles boyishly. "You know her, I think. Beautiful woman. Bit neurotic. Eats with a bent spoon."

She looks away, heart in her throat, not able to look at him in the eye, not able to believe what he'd just said to her. 'Oh, no. Neo, please don't,' is all she can think. 'Don't ruin this by reminding me of what we can't have. What I can't let myself feel.'

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I shouldn't have said that… Trin?"

Trinity checks her watch. "Running out of time," she says, not able to look up at him. "We can have Tank load the dojo if you'd like."

She can feel him studying her as he says slowly, "The deal was we'd spend the remaining time however I wanted, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Well…" He waits for her to meet his eyes again before continuing, "You want to grab a cup of coffee? My treat."

She is confused at first, not sure what he means. "Here?"

"Yeah. You did program the cafés to make coffee, right?"

"Well, yes. But…" She trails off, unsure how to respond to this bizarre invitation. It is utterly ludicrous, of course, to spend the next twenty minutes with him in a nonexistent café drinking nonexistent coffee in what was supposed to be a training sim. Still, she can't bring herself to say no. She doesn't want this to end.

"Sure," she hears herself say, as if she has no control over her own voice. "I'd love to."

* * *


	16. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

* * *

_**Chapter 13**_

Neo has absolutely no idea what he's doing. He might be on a date with Trinity. But he isn't sure. All he knows is that he has attempted to sabotage and /or kill this woman several times in the past half hour, and yet she still said _yes_ to coffee, which certainly cannot be a bad thing. Unless, of course, this is all an elaborate set-up to punish him in some unimaginable way (which he does not put past her; Trinity is a gifted assassin). But it would still be worth it, he thinks. It would be worth every second he gets to be close to her.

They walk side by side down the crowded sidewalk, clothing wet and a little tattered, both of them displaying several minor lacerations from their earlier activities. Neo has two giant MP5's tucked into his belt and a ridiculous amount of ammunition slung across his chest. And Trinity walks with a slightly bent-forward posture, trying to keep her T shirt from clinging to her breasts. Indeed, they are _quite_ the couple.

Without a word, Neo removes his coat and wraps it around Trinity's shoulders to cover her up. She fastens the top button, letting it hang like a cloak, thanking him with a wry smile, as if she knows how much it had cost him to do it. As if she were fully aware of the fact that ever since she'd wrestled him to the ground over the telephone, pulling at his hair, and clawing at his skin and clothes like a girl, he has wanted her so badly he can think of little else.

As he looks over at her for what must be the hundredth time, Neo notices that Trinity has become quiet again, the way he is used to seeing her on the ship. Her expression is sober, her eyes temperate. Back to the Trinity he knows. Though strangely, it doesn't feel that way to him anymore. He may be _accustomed_ to her stoic, professional alter ego, but the Trinity he really _knows, _the one he feels he has known his entire life, is the one who had just raced him down thirty three storeys of stairs. They'd been the only ones left in the building, and so she'd taken great liberties with her style, sometimes clearing entire flights with elegant, cat-like leaps and acrobatic back flips. He'd tried to imitate her, which had sparked something of a competition, which in turn had became a veritable circuits act, with Trinity crawling on the walls, and Neo running on his hands (which ended badly). And she'd laughed. She'd been laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes, and in that moment, Neo had recognized her. She was the woman he used to imagine loving, a long time ago, back before he'd given up. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of.

Neo is pulled from his reverie as he narrowly avoids colliding with a lamppost.

"Are you alright?" Trinity arches an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah." In fact, he has never been better, and he is about to tell her so when four huge red fire trucks tear around the corner, speeding towards the Metacortex tower. Sirens wail and ambulances and police cruisers follow. He catches Trinity as she momentarily shields her face, a reflex to law enforcement she has probably developed from years of being hunted as an international terrorist. Indeed, she is currently number three on the FBI's most wanted list (although there is no photograph and the feds also think she is a guy).

Trinity watches the emergency vehicles disappear down the street. "That was a nice touch, by the way," she says. "The fire alarm. Freezing the elevators. Not bad at all, Neo."

"Hmm," he hums his agreement. "But it felt a little juvenile, just breaking the glass and tripping the alarm. Very high school prankish."

"I was thinking the same thing. A bomb would have been much more dramatic. And effective. You could take out the whole lobby and quarantine the building in a hurry."

He smiles, amused by the casual tone of their conversation, as if they were discussing the weather. "Jesus."

"What?"

"This is a typical day at the office for you, isn't it?"

She chuckles. "Thank you for reminding me. This was supposed to be my night _off_. I was going to finish that inventory report and then sit back and watch you run your ass off for a few hours. As it turns out, you made both plans difficult."

"Both?"

"You're an oh-negative type transfusion. That's a pain in my ass like you wouldn't believe, Neo. We're nearly out of plasma, thanks to your precarious recovery."

He nudges her shoulder. "Well, that was _bloody_ inconsiderate of me, now wasn't it?"

Neo expects her to laugh, but she doesn't. Instead, Trinity looks at him with a bewildered, nearly frightened expression. It is almost as if she has seen a ghost. "Are _you_ alright?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah." She shakes her head and seems to recover, smiling as if to herself. Her eyes shine as she adds, "I've never been better."

* * *

The Starbucks at the intersection of First and Third is busy, with tables of chatting patrons pouring onto the side walk. Sophisticated men and women in business suits yammer on cellular phones, college students drown themselves in coffee, and a pair of speakers whimper James Blunt's new single in a cacophony of typical urban life. The routine is somewhat disrupted as Neo and Trinity arrive, however, looking like a pair of actors who just stepped off the set of the newest sequel to Mission Impossible. 

"The other reason you may find it beneficial to carry smaller weaponry is it's more easily concealed," Trinity says in a whisper as people gape and gasp, some backing away, others running. "That way, you can kill off twenty SWATs and still enjoy a leisurely cup of celebratory coffee without everyone _staring_."

"I need to have my guns."

She folds her arms and presses her lips together. "I really fail to see how you-"

"Shh. Here." He hands her one of the MP5's. "I need you to cover me."

"What?"

"You said it. The people are annoying. Besides, I don't have any money." He loads a fresh clip and offers her one, but she just stares at him with priceless incredulity.

Neo shrugs and slips the ammunition into the pocket of the coat Trinity is wearing, and then takes her by the shoulders, meeting her eyes. They're green in here, though still very beautiful, and it's all he can do to keep himself from impulsively leaning in to kiss her. Instead, he forces a serious face and deadpans, "I'm doing this for _you_. Whatever happens, I want you to know that my last thoughts were of you. In that top. Without the coat."

Her jaw drops as he bursts through the doors of the Starbucks, yelling at the top of his lungs and shooting at the ceiling.

"Everybody out! Do it! Do it now!"

Glass shatters and light fixtures explode as people scream and cover their ears, scattering frantically.

"I'm a madman! I'm absolutely out of my mind!" he proclaims the obvious, secretly wishing he had dynamite strapped to his chest for effect. "That's it! Run! Be very afraid of me!"

He feels Trinity standing behind him, shadowing his back, and he can tell she's laughing at him through the whole thing, because her body is shaking like a paint-mixer. At this point, she is probably utterly useless as back-up, but the physical contact is welcome nevertheless.

When only one unfortunate waiter remains, Neo points the gun straight at him. "Wait. Not _you_," he says, trying to sound as dangerous as possible.

"Hey, man, be cool. The register's open, man. You can have all the money you want."

"We aren't here for the money," Trinity says, producing a cool, even tone out of nowhere. She's standing next to him, finger on the trigger of her rifle, playing into his fantasy with an Oscar-worthy performance. "Follow our instructions to the letter and you might live through this."

"Oh, God! Oh God! Then what do you people _want_?" The young man looks ready to cry.

"I'll take a double cappuccino with full cream and chocolate shavings. Trin, what do you want?"

One look at Trinity tells him she's absolutely loving this. She would; she's as twisted as he is, Neo thinks with growing affection. He smiles at her as she says to their captive that she'd like a decaf latte made with skim milk, not two percent, and certainly not whole. No whip cream, but he may leave the froth, though not in excess, just enough to be aesthetically pleasing, thank you. Oh, and can she trouble him for a sprinkle of cinnamon as well? It's fresh, right? All this over the barrel of her gun, specified as though she were listing her ransom demands. The poor man just can't take it, and he faints in short order, just as Trinity is stipulating that both beverages are 'to go.'

They both stare at the body impassively.

"Shit. Trin, look what you've done." Neo lowers his rifle and tosses it onto a table, covered with crumbs and broken glassware. "Well, I think there's another Starbucks on Park and Eliot. Maybe they have better service."

She snickers wickedly, and steps over overturned tables and chairs to get behind the counter. "I think we will manage. What was it you ordered? A heart attack with extra clots?"

"No, it was a double cap with cream. And chocolate shavings."

"Alright." Trinity removes his coat, replacing it with a green Starbucks apron. But when she turns to operate the complicated coffee machine, they notice that it's riddled with bullet holes. "You shut your eyes when you shoot, don't you?"

"Hence all the extra ammo."

She sighs and shakes her head, and with some effort, Trinity is able to find a pair of mugs that haven't been broken. "Black coffee it is, then. For the man with the admirable foresight."

As she pours them two cups of the house blend, Neo turns his attention to the desserts in the shattered display case. He spots something at makes him smile. "You think there's too much glass in that marble bundt for us to eat it?"

She starts, and gazes at him as he lifts up the doughnut-shaped cake and smiles. "Well, how about that."

"You know, I've been wondering what made you do it," he says, accepting the cup of coffee from her, and finding two forks so they can share the unexpected treat. "Why you left me birthday cake. It isn't… standard procedure. Is it?"

"Hmm. No." Again with the predatory smile. "But it was worth it to see the expression on your face when you opened the fridge and saw it there."

"You were watching that?"

Proudly, "I watched you eat it, too."

Neo shakes his head and sips his coffee. He knew it. "I'll bet you thought that was pretty funny."

"No." And she is serious now, but softer as well as her eyes flutter away. "Actually, I was sorry you had to eat it alone."

"But I wasn't really alone. Was I?"

She looks back at him, and all she does is shake her head, no. She'd been there, watching him the entire time, like an angel. In fact, Neo thinks with a bittersweet irony, his long-distance relationship with Trinity was probably the most meaningful connection he'd ever made with a woman.

He takes a bite of cake, prompting her to do the same as they share the silence. "So," he says, already missing the sound of her voice. "Did I pass the running test tonight? Have you been duly impressed?"

This has the desired effect and she laughs at him. "The only reason you even came close was because you cheated. And the armed robbery of this coffee did little to convince me of your skills with the guns."

"You can't lie to me. You're into this."

"Yes, but that's hardly the point. The purpose of tonight's exercise was not to _get me into it_. My intention was to prepare you for the field," she says soberly. "You need more work. You aren't ready."

He is delighted to hear it. "Then you'll just have to drill me, won't you? Every night, until I pass muster."

"Be careful what you wish for. I can be a very demanding instructor, Neo."

"You'll wear your PVC? Bring your guns? Hunt me down until I beg for mercy?"

She can't seem to stop smiling. "You like punishment, don't you?"

"No. But I like _this_. Next time, we'll get dinner, too."

She scoffs. "Neo. You're missing the point of the exercises-"

"No, hear me out. There's a great noodle place I used to eat at near the hotel."

"Are you kidding me? That Chinese take-out was awful!"

"Hey, how would you know?" She has a guilty look on her face and Neo's eyes go round as saucers. "You ate my leftovers!"

"I did nothing of the kind." Off his accusing look, she admits, "I may, in a moment of misdirected curiosity, have _sampled_ some as I took the container from your desk to the garbage, where it _belonged_… but I assure you, I did _not_ swallow."

"Hey, I would have eaten that."

"It was three days old!"

"_You_ ate it!"

"I told you, I didn't swallow!"

"Well, that's it, you owe me a meal. You're treating _me. _I'm having dumplings with pea pods and a big noodle." She practically winces and scrunches her face at the suggestion. "You can have a soda if you don't like it," he says. "You're a caffeine-free diet coke, right?"

She rolls her eyes but doesn't deny it. "It sounds like a truly magical evening, Neo. But I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I'd rather scrub the power relays on E deck."

"Oh, come on. I promise you'll like it. It'll be a nice, calm… _normal_ meal. No guns, or fainting waiters, or screaming people, or…"

"Helicopters."

"Well, I suppose not."

"No, _listen_." Suddenly, the front window of the café is flooded with a blinding white light, wind picking up under the loud flapping of chopper blades. Neo can faintly hear sirens as well, and a gruff voice over a speakerphone informs them that they are completely surrounded.

"Oh, Jeez. Nice going, Trin."

She glares at him. "Me? This is _my_ fault? You're the one who called them in the first place!"

"But you're the one who killed twenty-five cops and stole a bike. _Two_ bikes."

"And then you shot a cabby and held up a Starbucks."

"We. _We_ held up the Starbucks!"

"This is the police!" A loud voice on the speakerphone interrupts their bickering. "You have ten seconds to surrender before we open fire. Come out with your hands in the air."

Neo sighs and pulls out his phone. "I'll have Tank freeze it." But she snatches it out of his hand before he can dial the operator. "Hey!"

"Call this your first field test."

"There must be three goddamn helicopters out there!"

She shields her eyes and peers into the white abyss. "Yeah, probably. But at least one has got to be the news crews. They're harmless and make great hostages."

"There's no way out."

"You should have thought of that before you-"

The rest of her sentence is lost in the deafening racket of weapons' fire. Caught by surprise, Neo freezes, and Trinity yanks him down with her behind the counter, covering his head until the first shower of bullets ends.

"Shit," he stammers, ears ringing and pulse racing. Neo knows it is an irrational fear, as all this is a simulation, and the program is designed to end if either of them is hit with a bullet. But he's never been shot at before, and everything here seems very real.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Neo replies, embarrassed. If she hadn't pulled him down, he'd be dead. Trinity was right. He isn't ready. "Sorry."

She seems not to have heard him, reaching up onto the countertop to grab her rifle and speaking quickly. "When running from PD, the roof is _always_ your best option, especially in the city. The commercial complex above us is probably fifteen or so storeys high, which isn't too much to make it through the ventilation."

They hear the sound of boots crunching on debris as the first of the police officers step into the café, guns drawn. Neo's heartbeat pounds in his throat as he shuts his eyes in an attempt to _free his mind_. "I'll handle them," she says, tone smooth and cool. "Go for the stock room entrance; lock the door behind you."

"But what about you-"

"That's an order. Go, now."

There is no time to argue as she suddenly rolls out from behind the counter, avoiding a few bullets and plastering her back to a support beam. Neo simultaneously runs for the door marked 'staff only,' barging though it as he hears more gunfire. He looks back after Trinity, still wearing the Starbucks apron and red baseball cap, now holding both guns, having found his among the rubble at her feet. She takes a few shots at the infiltrating law enforcement, probably hitting one man for every two bullets, then pulls back to avoid being hit herself. "Neo, go!" she yells urgently.

The burn of superheated metal grazes Neo's left ear as he slams the door behind him, but in that moment, all he hears is Trinity scream.

* * *


	17. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

* * *

**Chapter 14 **

Neo can hear the muffled sound of weapons' fire as he leans back against the stock-room door, his mind and heart racing with a galvanizing mixture adrenaline and testosterone. Trinity expects him to crawl through the ventilation to the roof? To run away like a coward? To squeeze and shimmy his way to safety while his proverbial derrière is saved by his _date_, a woman wearing a Starbucks apron and a Montréal Canadians baseball cap?

But the question remains. Is she _really_ his date? Neo shakes his head. Never mind. Man on a date or not, he is still a _man_, and chivalry is not dead in _his_ universe.

_Don't you worry, Trin, I'm coming… _

A few bullets pierce through the plaster at his back, just missing his body, and Neo drops to the floor, covering his head. "Aww, shit!" He yells his default curse through the racket, crawling on his elbows and knees across the room. "Aww, shit!"

He has no gun, no phone, just all this useless, heavy ammunition that he throws off his shoulders into a heap on the ground. Desperate, he frantically begins to search through cupboards and drawers for anything he can use as a weapon. But all he finds are paper cups and plastic spoons, chocolate sauce and whipped cream. And after he gets over the pleasant Trinity-gets-naughty-in-noting-but-a-chef's-hat fantasy that the last two items inspire, he throws his hands up in frustration, surrendering defeat to the gods of love. Who is he kidding? He'll be lucky if he doesn't get stuck in the vent on his way up.

Just then, his prayers of woe and defeat are interrupted (or answered?) by a shrill ringing from the phone on the wall. He half expects it to be Trinity, brutally strangling an officer with one hand and calling to yell at him to get to the roof with the other. The comical and more-than-likely mental image pulls at the corners of his mouth as he answers, "Yeah."

"Hey, Neo!" It's Tank. He's chuckling, and Neo can hear a few more voices cheering in the background. "You're our hero, man! The Nebuchadnezzar rookie of the year!"

"Huh?"

"You called the _cops_ on her! Pierced her gas tank! _Drenched_ her from head to toe! And you're still alive! She hasn't killed you!"

"Oh… uh, yeah."

"And then somehow, you got her to go _out_ with you! _Trinity!_ I swear to God, a tape of this would go on the Zionist black market for a fortune!"

He grins, feeling rather good about himself. "So… you think it's a _date_, then?"

Neo doesn't hear the operator's answer as more gunfire ricochets through the room and a huge explosion shakes the ground. Plaster falls from the ceiling and the lights flicker. "Tank! Is Trinity okay?" he shouts into the phone, ears ringing.

"Are you kidding? That was her blowing up a helicopter with an M-160."

His shoulders slump. So much for his plan to come to her rescue. "_Perfect_."

"You want one? I've got several models."

"No… I think I'll just start crawling my way to the roof, thank you very much." There are a few groans, and Neo could swear he hears Switch call him a 'pussy.'

"What?" Tank exclaims. "You can't back out now! You're in the _zone_! Just tell me what you need… _anything_. Guns? Knives? A dozen red roses? I'm your fairy godmother, man."

"Really?" Neo stands up a little taller and begins to let his imagination run wild. "_Anything_ I want?"

There is some laughing over the phone and more applause. Somebody whistles and yells, 'go, Neo!' Probably Mouse.

"Anything your heart desires," confirms Tank, typing at his keyboard. "Bibbity, Bobbity, Boo!"

* * *

Leaping behind an overturned table for cover, Trinity rips a piece of fabric from her green apron and applies it as a tourniquet to the graze on her left arm. After pulling the knot taught with her teeth and free hand, she spits out some blood and wipes her sweaty brow, panting as she replaces the clips in her guns. _This was supposed to be her night off! _

She grimaces as pain cuts through her from several other minor lacerations, and the discomfort is much more intense than it should be, given how often she has suffered worse without even flinching. She isn't _focussing_, and she has slipped out of the concentrated, intuitive subspace that has taken her years of intense training and meditation to develop. It's Neo. Her mind and heart sing his name, even as she summersaults out from her cover and engages the torrents of attacking policemen. They drop one by one, necks twisted into unnatural angles or bullets lodged in their skulls, and when Trinity finds a pair of butcher's knives next to a tray of biscotti, they fly across the room faster than the simulated officers can see them (which is impressive, considering how she'd programmed them with superior visual acuity).

Her movements are fluid and well-practiced, even though all the while she is silently chastising herself for the girlish self-indulgences that led her into this situation in the first place. What had she been thinking, letting Neo coax her to this café? Drinking non-coffee, eating pseudo-cake, and flirting shamelessly as if they were teenagers… as if this were some sort of… _date? _She'd maim any other man for looking at her the way he does, for saying some of the things at which she'd giggled like a smitten schoolgirl. _Whatever happens, I want you to know that my last thoughts were of you_. _In that top. Without the coat. _

How dare he! She smiles. The smug bastard! She feels giddy. Who does he think he is! Obviously he has no idea who he's dealing with!

Trinity scorpion-kicks an officer and snatches his M-16 assault rifle, shooting him in the head with it before he hits the ground.

She is _The_ IRS D-Base Trinity! The Red Queen! The hard, fearless first officer of the Nebuchadnezzar, a woman with eyes like razors and a heart like steel! She's goddamned _terrifying,_ for crying out loud!

Suddenly, in the middle of the gunfight, Trinity erupts into laughter, and is very nearly shot. She darts behind a support beam and has to wipe tears from behind her sunglasses. Somehow, she can't imagine Neo is much afraid of her. She lost that edge somewhere between baking him a cake and making his bed. It's awful, but Trinity can't help it. She doesn't want to be cold and intimidating anymore.

A chuckle somehow comes out as a sob as her throat constricts. It's been twelve years. Twelve years and she's so tired of being the remote, impregnable woman she has become. She didn't even know how tired until Neo came along. He makes her want to be soft. For him, in his arms, against his lips, Trinity wants to let it all go. She wants to laugh, to smile, to love, to forget the terrors of this war. For one night. For as long as they have…

Trinity's chest tightens and she plunges her hands into the pockets of her apron for two more clips, loading them in with frustrated, jerky movements. "To hell with the goddamned Prophecy," she mumbles. It's about time she starts taking her own advice. Neo needs her. They need each other, and they're entitled. She won't be the one to deny them any longer.

Trinity takes a deep breath and looks back towards the stock room entrance. Her mind is made up. She'll meet Neo on the roof (hopefully, he hasn't gotten himself jammed in the vent), and Tank can pull them out at the nearest phone. Then she'll take Neo to her quarters and tell him how she feels.

A wave of nausea causes her to swallow hard. What will she say? _Neo, I love you_. Or perhaps that is too blunt, too direct. She has been told that this is one of her worst faults socially. Perhaps a more tactful approach is in order…

_Neo. I have committed many armed robberies in my life, and if I'm to be completely honest with you, I've come to take great pride in my work. I've stolen guns, bikes, cars, nuclear submarines, and in one spectacular instance, an agent's sunglasses. But tonight's hold-up of the Starbucks on First and Third was really something special. With anyone else it would have been just another cup of caffeinated code, but with you, every sip was magical. I don't normally do this, and I know you have a lot to deal with in your life right now, but… _

Without warning, Trinity is thrown to the ground as the force of a massive explosion rips though the café, shaking the foundation and charring the front three rows of tables. Flame falls from the ceiling in chunks of burning particleboard, and Trinity tastes blood in her mouth as she pulls herself up. "What the hell?"

The all-too-familiar scent of burning hair causes her to reach up and smother the singed ends of her short black tresses, and when she finds her favorite baseball cap in a pile of smoldering rubble, Trinity tries to save it by stomping out the flames.

"Goddamn it," she mutters, picking it up and scowling at the indecipherable Habs logo. She puts the tattered hat back on her head and peers through the haze, waving smoke away from her face and coughing. What happened?

"Trin? _Trin_! Jesus, are you okay?" She hears his frantic voice holler through the dust and debris.

"Neo?"

She can only vaguely make out the shape of his body as he enters through the giant hole in the front wall, hurrying towards her. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"No, no I'm okay."

But as he gets closer, Trinity begins to wonder if she hasn't suffered from a concussion. Because if she is seeing clearly, Neo is dressed in a tuxedo.

"Hey," he greets her, clumsily stumbling over a fallen metal beam. Trinity stares back incredulously. Neo's hair is gelled into spikes, and angular sunglasses compliment his smooth, sharp features. Gold cufflinks. Leather dress shoes. A bowtie.

She blinks a few times. Yes, he is _still_ wearing the tux.

"Neo, I'm going to ask you a question," she says slowly, evenly. "And I want an honest answer from you."

"Sure, Trin."

"Are you responsible for this?" She looks around and rubs some soot from her chin. "Did you just blow me up?"

He begins to shuffle nervously. "You're going to laugh when you hear the story. It's really all Tank's fault."

Trinity feels her cheeks burn. If he were anyone else, she'd kill him. "Neo, I told you to get to the roof," she says, trying her best not to notice how sexy his looks in that outfit. "You're never going to learn a thing if you don't start following my instructions. This isn't a game-"

"Just calm down and give me a chance to explain," he interrupts, stuttering a little. "See, Tank called, and he wanted to help me… _us_ out. Mostly you. And uhm, so I asked him for some explosives."

"And a James Bond costume?"

"Well, it's waterproofed fabric, like you told me."

He extends his arm to offer her a feel of the sleeve. Trinity narrows her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. Receiving her message, he beings to talk faster.

"Anyway. So seeing as I was going with the Bond theme, Tank was good enough to wire the bombs to my wrist watch… well, long story short, I think I used too many. Or turned the wrong knob to detonate. Sorry. I got rid of the cops for you, though. They're all dead."

"And when you're faced with the same situation in the Matrix, you think it's going to be this easy?" she asks.

"Well what was I supposed to do?"

"Leave me here as I _ordered_ you to! I was doing just fine until you-" Trinity stops herself short and freezes. "Oh, no."

"Trin? What's wr-"

Before he can get another word out, she grabs his hand and yanks in the direction the street. "Neo, come on!" she yells, sprinting towards the exit as the structure around them begins to moan, walls caving in and roof crumbling above them. They narrowly avoid being crushed by the falling metal and concrete, tripping and falling over obstacles, pulling and dragging each other along the entire way.

Trinity and Neo reach the opposite sidewalk just in time to watch the twenty two storey building collapse onto itself. People run by screaming and dialing 911 on their cellular phones, and a few people pull out video cameras.

"Lovely," Trinity deadpans, falling onto a bench. "I left my sunglasses in there."

Neo begins to laugh.

"No, no, it isn't funny. It's sad," she remarks, and he laughs harder. "That's the next lesson. Pyrotechnics. And I'm watching from the core. You can blow Switch up. See how long you last after that."

Neo lifts his head out from between his knees and pulls out a keychain and remote control from his pocket. "Okay, I think we're done here."

"That's _it_! _I think we're done here? _How about, I'm sorry, Trin, for disobeying your direct order. And for nearly killing you… _again_."

"I'll let you drive the Bond car. How about that?" he says, pointing the remote down the street. "It's fifteen minutes 'till midnight, and the Exit is in the penthouse apartment of the Delta hotel. Lockheart and Wheylen."

A BMW Z-8 screeches to a halt in front of them, and Trinity can't suppress a mischievous grin as she holds out her palm to accept the keys. "You changed the color," she says, sliding into the convertible's leather seat. "Bright orange?"

"Not quite," Neo replies, buckling his seatbelt. "This is _pumpkin_ orange."

Off her look, he chuckles. _"Bibbity, bobbity, boo!"_

* * *

Trinity opens the glove-compartment, finding a pair of sunglasses and a Beretta 84. After resting the gun on her lap and sliding the shades onto the bridge of her nose, she pushes the key into the ignition. A thin blue laser beam flickers across her face and Neo's. 

"Hello, Trinity," greets a rugged male voice as she revs the engine. "Please specify unknown passenger."

"This is Neo." Trinity shifts into drive. "He's new here."

"Security clearance?" requests the computer.

Trinity glances over at her passenger's bewildered expression. "Zero," she says squarely. "He's had enough fun with the explosives today."

"Acknowledged. It's good to see you again, Trin." The seats heat up and vibrate. "I've missed you."

"What the hell is _this_?" Neo finally demands, shifting uncomfortably. "Make it stop."

"Paulo, that isn't funny," Trinity says sternly, turning onto the highway. "Neo isn't Switch. Leave him alone."

"_Paulo_!" Neo exclaims.

"Well, whose car do you think you're in?" she answers, rather pleased that he seems jealous. "The Bond car, as you call it, is _my_ creation. I programmed him from scratch." She runs her hand over the wheel lovingly. "We've been through a lot together."

The dashboard lights up with an electronic navigation array. "Specify destination, Trin?"

"The Delta hotel," she says. "We don't have a lot of time. I have to get Cinderella here to the Exit by midnight."

"Hey."

She grins. "You turned my car orange. You're lucky I didn't leave you on the sidewalk."

"I'm _orange_?" Paulo sounds overwrought.

"Can you turn your boyfriend off for a moment?"

Trinity laughs. "You can dish it out but you can't take it, eh? Neo can bring _his_ toys but Trinity must leave all hers at home?" She presses her foot to gas petal, delighted to finally be back in control. No more unpleasant surprises. _Ladies and gentlemen, The Red Queen is back._ "You'll find that when we do things _my_ way, the mission goes much more smoothly. Specifically, neither of us dies from the other's _stupidity_."

"Are you going to throw that in my face for the rest of the night? It was an _accident_. Ak-si-dent."

Trinity sighs and shakes her head, aggressively weaving in and out of traffic. There is silence between them, and now that she has a moment to think clearly, she realizes how much fun she's having. How twisted is that, she wonders? This guy nearly flattens her in a massive explosion, and she is having a blast. Trinity swallows a chuckle at her pun. Neo's sense of humor is rubbing off on her…

"What?" he asks. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." She bites her lower lip and keeps her eyes on the road. He continues to look at her, and Trinity can feel it; she can feel Neo studying her profile. She consciously pushes her shoulders back and chest forward. She must look like hell after all she has been through. After all _he's put her though_, she corrects. And it makes her a little self-conscious, a little nervous, so she reaches out to turn on the CD player.

"How about some music?"

"Kay." He is still looking. Trinity takes a deep breath and presses play. Hopefully this will make things less awkward…

"_I'll be The One." _She scowls. What? _"I'll be The One, ohh-oh…" _

"The Backstreet Boys?" Neo asks. "I never would have figured you for a fan."

"I'm _not_. I…"

The bouncy rhythm of the celebrated boy band's newest hit _The One_ blasts over the car's impressive surround sound.

"Paulo, what the hell is this?" she yells over the rising volume.

"Trinity playlist one," replies the seductive voice. Neo raises an eyebrow at her.

"No, it _isn't_! Turn it off," she says, trying in vain to put off the radio.

"Unable to comply."

Trinity lets out a growl of frustration and drives faster. When she gets back to the core… heads are going to roll. Neo laughs as the boys' angelic, prepubescent voices boom around them.

"_I guess you were lost when I met you  
Still there were tears in your eyes  
So out of trust and I knew  
No more than mysteries and lies _

There you were, wild and free  
Reachin' out like you needed me  
A helping hand to make it right  
I am holding you all through the night

_I'll be The One! I'll be The One!"_

"I'm going to murder Tank," she hollers, cheeks burning.

"I think they're trying to brainwash me," he answers back. "If it works, it could be my superhero theme song, you know. Like the bat dance."

She shakes her head. "Bat Man wasn't a _superhero_. He was just a messed up guy with a lot of gadgets."

"I can't believe _you_ don't like Bat Man."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you dress like Cat Woman."

"I do _not_!"

"Proximity alert."

"For your information," she specifies, "My leathers are _very_ practical."

"Uh-huh."

"Incoming fire."

"They're stealthy, flame _and_ water resistant… and the inside is woven with a network of biomed sensors which-"

The racket of gunfire cuts her short as several undercover police cars converge on their position. Trinity grabs Neo's head and pushes it down. "Shit."

"Deploy the armor!" he yells.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You programmed this thing without armor!"

"It isn't the Batmobile, Neo!"

"Incoming fire."

"Jesus!" Trinity swerves to avoid more bullets and cuts off a few SUVs. "Neo! The cigarette lighter is a control switch for the rear missile complement. Once we're in position, specify a full spread."

Neo presses his thumb to the button. "Access denied. Insufficient security clearance."

"Good one, Trin!" he yells, as she yanks at the steering wheel, sending him flying against the door.

Trinity barely maintains control of the car with one hand as she activates the weapons herself. The dashboard displays a digital screen in which the police cruisers behind them are locked in flashing red squares.

"Warning: vehicle is inside the blast radius." Paulo sounds very worried.

"Hold on to something," she yells, and before Neo can comply, they're both thrown forward with the force of the explosion. Paulo is lifted off the street and into the air, where he lands thirty feet away with a bone-shattering crash, though they are still moving.

"_You need me like I need you  
We can share our dreams comin' true  
I can show you what true love means  
Just take my hand, baby please…"_

"You're insane!" Neo exclaims, and Trinity laughs. Yes, she is definitely having fun…

"We're almost there." She nods at the hotel a few blocks ahead. "And we made excellent time."

"Warnisgh. Profffst Aleerg."

"Paulo?" Trinity taps at the scrambled screen in front of her. "Paulo? Are you alright?"

"You know, _I'm_ not doing so well myself over here," Neo says testily. "I bit my tongue on the landing."

"Oh, no," she gasps.

"Well, it isn't that bad, but-"

"No, look." They both stare through the windshield at an upcoming barricade.

"That's a military line," she says. "Somebody called the army in."

"Shit. What are we going to do?"

"Paulo, start self-destruct sequence. Five seconds on my mark. Autopilot at sixty KPH."

"What?" Neo's eyes go wide.

"Don't worry. We won't be in this car when it blows up." She opens her car door and grabs his lapel. "Ready?"

"No!"

"Trust me." She holds out her hand. "We'll make it. Just remember to _roll_."

* * *

The last Neo sees of his rival Paulo is a mushroom-shaped cloud of billowing smoke as he runs with Trinity into an ally, limping slightly. 

"You okay?" she asks, apparently uninjured from her leap from a speeding vehicle.

"No!"

"Well, you didn't roll."

"Oh, trust me, I rolled _plenty_." He examines the cuts and scrapes all over his legs and arms.

"You're fine." She peeks around a dumpster at the soldiers running back and forth, communicating on walkie-talkies. "The hotel is across the street. We'll never make it without being seen."

"Tell me you have a plan."

"Always. Come with me."

* * *

Neo can see the entire city from the roof of the Sigmund Howard Tower, a commercial complex that stands over fifty stories high. He squints out in the sunlight as the wind whips around his ears and the rumble of downtown traffic roars up from below. 

"Good. It's about the same height." Trinity observes, shutting the rooftop door and checking her watch. "Home free in five minutes. You first."

Neo walks over to the edge of the building, judging the distance from the ledge to the top of the Delta hotel to be roughly forty feet. His legs feel weak. "I can't do it."

"What?"

He turns to look at her. "I can't do it. This is farther than the jump program. I couldn't even do _that_."

Trinity sighs. "That's because you still doubted yourself. You need to let it all go, Neo. You need to _free your mind_."

He scoffs. He really wishes people would stop saying that. "I don't even know what that means."

Trinity walks over to him and takes off her sunglasses. He looks down into her eyes, those amazing eyes, and his knees turn to jelly again. "I'd say you understand it better than most, double-oh."

"_This_?" He indicates his torn and tattered tuxedo. "This is just… this is all Tank's magic. None of it is real. None of it is _me_. I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm so… God, if you had any idea how lost I am…"

He trails off as she takes his hand in hers. "I know," she says. "But you can do this."

Neo feels his throat tighten as this beautiful creature squeezes his palms. He wants to reach out and touch her; he wishes he had the courage to do it. To kiss her the way he has wanted to all night. "I feel so alone."

He didn't even mean to say it aloud, the words just escaped from his lips in a whisper before he knew what was happening. Instantly, Neo looks away in embarrassment. If he cries in front of her, he _will_ jump off the building.

"Then, we will do it together," he hears her say softly, tightening her grip on his hand. "On my count of three?"

"What? No, I'll pull you down," he argues as she leads him back from the ledge for a running start.

"No, you won't."

"Trin-"

"Just focus on the place you want to land. Visualize yourself making the jump. You can do it, Neo. I believe in you."

As her thumb caresses small circles on his hand, Neo can think only one thing. He loves her. Somewhere tonight, he has fallen so completely, he can barely think clearly. It was probably when she started flirting with the car, covered in dirt and sweat from his botched rescue attempt. Or maybe when she suddenly began giggling to herself as they drove along the highway, nasally suppressing the laughter until it escaped in a snort.

God, he would jump over fifty buildings for her. Just for one kiss. For one night…

In a huge leap of faith, Neo closes his eyes and interlaces their fingers. Trinity weaves into him and squeezes again. "Don't worry. I'm not letting go. I promise." He feels a tingle up his arm. Her voice is nearly a purr. "Are you ready to fly?"

Neo lets out a deep breath and looks over at Trinity one last time. _I love you._ "Yeah. I'm ready."

She catches his eyes, and counts to three, and they run.

* * *


	18. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

_a/n: Some of you may have noticed that I rated this story M, for sexual themes. This is because this chapter in particular is rather graphic, so please be warned, or intrigued, depending on your fancies. _

_There is a little gift to the Trinophiles in this chapter - half of which is written from Trinity's point of view, which is not the norm for this fiction, so I'll call it an experiment- I hope you like it. _

_For those of you who read my other fiction,The UC, you'll notice a well-known character makes an appearance here. This story is meant to take place before the Undiscovered Country, so Knight and Rorie are good friends, nothing more (feel free to enjoy the dollop of irony I dish out regarding this aspect of their relationship)._

_Thank you for all the reviews and enjoy,  
-Syd_

* * *

**Chapter 15  
****_Zion, circa 2219_**

"Well? Did you make it?" I asked across the dinner table, sitting on the very edge of my chair.

"Of _course_ we made it!" Dad answered. "You think your mom would have married me if I had pulled her to her digital death?"

"Well, we _just_ made it," my mother clarified. "Your father was literally wobbling on the edge of the roof when we landed. I had to yank him back."

"I did it on purpose so she'd pull me against her. And it worked," Dad said through a smug grin. Mom threw her napkin at him.

"Eat your supper," she said to me. "You've barely touched it."

"What happened when you got back to the ship?"

"That's dessert talk, and you won't get any if you don't eat," she replied, talking to me as if I were seven again, instead of seventeen. "Neo, you too."

"So now you know why I play that Backstreet Boys' song on our anniversary," Dad said, ignoring Mom just as I had. "I had them play it at our wedding reception, too. It was our first dance as husband and wife."

My mother groaned as if the memory gave her a headache. "You're lucky I didn't divorce you then and there."

"And what? Run back to _Paulo_?"

I laughed, and Mom silenced me with a look that could have cut glass. She made me endure the stare until I swallowed a large forkful of mushroom salad, and I was only rescued from further torture by a knock at the door.

"I'll get it. You two _children_ finish eating," she said, getting up.

The minute she was out of earshot, Dad continued his story with all the excitement of a smitten schoolboy ranting about his first girlfriend. "So, Tank pulls us out. And when I open my eyes in the core, the whole crew is standing around, applauding."

"Because you made the jump?"

"Apparently. But, I like to think it was more because I got Trin to laugh a little. She was clapping, too actually. Gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek in front of everyone."

"That's incredible. I mean… it's so romantic." My eyes fell to my plate. I felt a little strange talking to my father so frankly about this, but I seldom held back what I was thinking from him, so I continued hesitantly. "I can't help but hope I fall in love like that one day," I admitted. "That I find someone as special to me as Mom is to you."

When I finally looked back up, Dad wasn't smiling anymore. "He'd better be," he said seriously. "I won't have it any other way."

There was some chuckling at the door, and when Mom returned to the dining room, it was with her tactical officer's arm around her shoulders. She'd unplugged Knight nine years ago when he was only twelve, and he'd practically lived at our house since then. Though these days, it seemed as though he strategically timed his visits with _dinnertime _(Mom often said the poor guy needed a recipe for boiling water).

"Hey Neo," he greeted my father, holding out his hand for their usual shake. "Trin tells me you and your obstinate daughter won't eat the meal that she _slaved_ away at for hours. Not cool. What could possibly keep you from enjoying this woman's magnificent cooking? God, just the aroma of it makes my mouth water."

My mother rolled her eyes. "That'll do, Urchin. You can help yourself."

I grinned at the boy I considered my best friend as he returned from the kitchen with a plate and fork. "Mom and Dad are telling me about their first date," I said. "I was just commenting about how romantic it was."

Knight raised his eyebrows. "On second thought, maybe I'll take mine to _go_, Trin."

I scoffed. "That figures."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you wouldn't know _romantic_ if it bit you in the ass."

" Aurora," my father corrected.

"Sorry. But you get my point. Knight's last girlfriend lasted… what was it? Three hours?"

Knight brushed back golden curls from his forehead and poured himself some wine. "It was about _five_ hours. And the relationship was doomed before it started. She just had one fault that I couldn't overlook."

"Which was?" My mother asked.

"Her best friend was too good looking."

My Dad laughed while Mom and I frowned daggers at them both. "As I said, you're romantically brain dead," I accused. "I feel sorry for the girl who ends up with you."

Knight just shrugged back at me, as if he, too, pitied his future mate, but nothing could be done to rescue the poor woman, so we might as well all enjoy our supper.

"So obviously you didn't tell Dad how you felt that night," I ventured, addressing my mother. "Why not?"

"Well, the crew was all over him for finally passing the jump test," she answered. "And by the time they were done _celebrating_ with your poor father, he was nearly dead from alcohol poisoning."

Knight choked on his food, suddenly interested. "No way!"

"I wasn't _that_ drunk," Dad said.

"Oh, yes… _yes_ you were. After three glasses, no less!" she laughed back. "You were _singing_ that Backstreet Boys' song to bed. It's a miracle I was able to scrape you off the mattress the next morning. Could the Oracle tell you were hung-over?"

Knight nearly fell off his chair. "Neo was singing Backstreet Boys? And he went to the Oracle's place _hung over_? Wow, what they don't tell you in the history books, eh?"

"No, I wasn't," he answered. "Trinity's making it up."

My mother peered at him from across the table, and her eyes sparkled. "You don't remember _anything_ from that night, do you?" she said with an enigmatic curl of her lip. "You really have no idea?"

"What?" he asked, his eyes now locked in her secretive gaze. "What aren't you telling me?"

All of us fell silent, and Mom just kept smiling at him. "Never mind," she eventually said softly. "I'll tell you later. Once we put the kids to bed."

Knight and I dropped our utensils and protested vehemently. "Put _her_ to bed!" Knight insisted. "I'm _over_ twenty-one!"

"Yes, but you act under twelve." Mom stated what we all knew was the truth and then looked at my father. "Besides, this is something that stays between us."

* * *

I lean on the doorjamb of my daughter's bedroom, as I have so many times in the past, watching her sleep. She sleeps like child still, on her side, cuddled up in a ball around her pillow. And yet, somehow, she is not like a child. The sharp angles of her face, so like her father's, are those of a young lady, not a girl, and the curve of her hips under the covers tell me that she is past the ambiguous stage between adolescence and adulthood. I wonder if Neo has noticed it yet, these subtle changes in her. Or if he, like me, has managed to pretend that she is still our little girl, still the tiny, bright-eyed creature we fell in love with from the instant we first laid eyes on her. 

She really is beautiful, I think with a half proud, half sorrowful smile. She really has turned into a striking young woman.

His arms slide around my waist, his cheek next to my ear. "Stargazing?" Neo asks, and I feel him grin. "Make a wish."

"I wish... I wish I could turn back time. To when she was a baby," I whisper.

"No you don't. Remember she didn't give us a moment's rest? The crying, the feedings in the middle of the night…" His lips brush my neck. "I thought I'd never make love to you again."

I laugh softly. "Oh, you found the time."

"Mmm-hum." His breath on my skin tells me he'd like to find the time right now, but I linger by the door, still not taking my eyes from our daughter.

"Isn't it strange she's asking all these questions all of a sudden?" I ask."She seems so interested in how we ended up together."

"Well, she's getting older. A little curious, I guess."

So he has noticed. I sigh.

"You know what she said to me when you went to let Knight in?" Neo says, turning me to face him, forcing me to look away from her (he rubs my shoulders as if to ease the separation). "She said that she hopes that she falls in love with someone as special to her as you are to me."

"Rorie said that?" I raise my eyebrows, surprised, and a little affected that she'd said this to Neo and not to me. "But… it's too soon."

"Don't worry. It will take her a lifetime to find someone _that_ special. If the guy exists, and manages to convince me that he's good enough."

"Well, there goes all hope of having grandchildren." And I smile, sliding my hands up over his chest, fingers finding the top buttons of his shirt. I pluck at them until my mouth can reach bare skin.

There is something about Neo's paternal side that never fails to strike a cord in me. He's a wonderful father, and I've told him so many times, often without words, but just like this, my body pressed to his, my lips paying homage.

"Come to bed," he says, hands moving down to my hips, holding me firmly. Grounding me. "I've been wanting you all day."

"Mmm. I can tell." I feel a familiar rush tingle through my body as I carefully close Rorie's door behind me. The recent walk down memory lane that our daughter has forced upon us has awakened something in me as well. It has been a long time since we've reminisced about this part of our romantic history. We buried it a long time ago, the joys with the sorrows, and there was much more sorrow than joy, such that I'd forgotten that there were times when we laughed, when we were truly happy together. I felt guilty for being so happy at the time, and I still do now when I look back on it. When I recall how much fun I had with him that night, the night before five of my best friends were killed.

My fingers work quickly to remove Neo's shirt, my lips pressed hard to his, not giving him a moment to catch up. We are still in the living room, but I don't care. I remember this. This desperation, this need. It had been the only thing that could comfort me, that could ease the ache that their deaths left in my heart. And suddenly I'm back there, in that tiny apartment on 31 that we shared, struggling with the same drowning sensation that had almost constantly plagued me during the war. It's partly for Switch and the others, and partly for Rorie, who is growing up too fast, slipping through my fingers.

Blindly, Neo manages to maneuver me into the bedroom, shutting the door behind us a little too loudly, and we both wince, hoping we didn't wake Rorie. But that concern is gone in an instant when he pins me against the metal, hips grinding against me at just the right angle, with just the right amount of force. It's almost rough, but not quite, only strong and determined.

"Trin," he murmurs, gathering the fabric of my dress up around my thighs. "I've missed you…"

And now I'm certain that he is back on level 31, too. He has followed me back there for a brief tryst between two lovers who no longer exist, who haven't for a long time, not outside the vaults of our memories. I unlock his, and he unlocks mine, and we let these star-crossed spirits out to play, knowing that it's been too long for them. They're hungry and frantic, clumsy and impulsive. Sometimes, even selfish and mindless in their lovemaking. But not tonight; somehow we manage to control them, guide them, whisper twenty years' worth of erotic secrets into their ears. Touch him here, Trinity. Slowly, firmly, just like this. You have all night…

But my younger self is an impatient pupil, and so is his. Still wearing most of our clothing, I find my legs wrapped around his waist as he lifts my weight off the door and onto his body. He does it effortlessly and gracefully, the muscles of his arms, chest and shoulders constricting against mine as I move in tiny, rhythmic motions.

"I'm yours," I manage, eyes shut tight, arms locked around his neck. I tremble with every nearly imperceptible thrust, driving myself precariously close, and wanting him to know it. "Neo, please. Take me," I breathe, this time more insistent. It's not a request for release, but rather an instruction for him to accept responsibility for what happens next, and though it is something I ask for very rarely, Neo understands me. The power exchange is fluid and immediate as he grips my hips and holds me still. I can't move, though I'm still trying, and I almost regret giving him the upper hand as I sigh my frustration.

"I need you," I plead. "And I don't need anything."

"I know," he whispers, and this is the husband speaking now, tempering the wild lover of two decades past. "There's time."

But we make love as if there weren't a moment beyond the morning. I cling to him, wrap myself around him as if the entire world were burning down, as if we were literally dying in each other's arms. His moans, like prayers, are panted into my ear as he lifts my head from the pillow, and by the end our limbs are burning from keeping me up for so long, my back only barely brushing the sheets. His skin is wet and salty on my tongue and lips, and I feel a cool bead run down from my temple to my jaw just as my strained muscles seize, sending me crashing, bucking against him. I fist his hair, and call his name, and when he shudders and squeezes back it is so tight I think he'll break me.

We collapse together, gasping with each intake of breath, and I whimper on the exhale, demolished with a mixture of subsiding pleasure and aching pain from the overexertion. I find his eyes, and I press my lips them as I continue to make tiny noises, little involuntary exclamations that I normally suppress, but I cannot find the strength at the moment. It is a long time before I can even speak, before we reestablish normalcy in tender kisses and gentle caresses under the covers. I dangle between awake and sleeping as he runs his fingers through my hair, my ear over his heartbeat, now slow and steady.

"Trin?" he whispers, very, very softly. "Darling?"

I answer with a hum.

"You want to know what I was thinking about as I made that jump?" he asks. "After you told me to visualize myself landing on the other side?"

"You were thinking of kissing me," I reply.

There is silence for a few beats, and I prop myself up on my elbow to see him frown in mild confusion. "How did you know that? I don't remember ever telling you."

I have to smile. He really doesn't remember. "Lucky guess, I suppose."

"No it wasn't."

I lean in to brush our lips together. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

"Trin!" I giggle mischievously as he pretends to be exasperated. "What's with all these secrets all of a sudden? First tonight at dinner, and now this…"

"You speak as if the two are completely unrelated."

He half grimaces. "I didn't tell you… that night? I told you that I was thinking of kissing you? No, I didn't."

"Oh, you told me a lot of things."

"I don't believe you."

"Alright. Then we should get some sleep."

"No." He stops me from turning over and pins me down with deep brown eyes. "Tell me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Well," I say slowly, not quite sure where to begin. "Tell me, what is the last thing that you remember?"

He considered it for a few seconds. "I remember Morpheus called it quits after the first toast, and ordered the rest of us to do the same. Then for some reason, you left me alone with them."

"I had a shift in the core," I say evenly. Typical.

"Oh. Well, the next thing I knew, you were back, and yelling at Switch. God only knows why."

"Do you realize that when I returned, you were wearing nothing but your boxers?"

"Now that you mention it, I remember being _cold_."

I chuckle, and run my hand through my tousled hair. "Oh, Neo, Neo. What would you have done without me?"

* * *


	19. CHAPTER SIXTEEN, PT1

_a/n: Hello, everyone, and welcome to chapter 16, written from Trinity's POV (as it is Trinity's memory!) Note: this chapter builds on two previous chapters - ch4 (Trinity and Cypher's history) and ch6 (the first night Trinity cleaned up Neo's cabin on the Neb). _

_Also note: To put it in context, this is the night before Neo goes to see the Oracle (recall Trinity's comment from the last chapter: Did the Oracle notice you were hung over?). _

_Enjoy! -Syd_

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_**Chapter 16, (part 1 of 2)  
**__**Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199**_

I sit in the core, staring at the code as I often do at this time of night, but the truth is, I'm not reading a single symbol of it. It's damn irresponsible. One hundred Agent Smiths in ballet slippers could pirouette by, and I would be none the wiser. The system could crash. The world as I know it could end, and I would just continue to sit here with a dreamy smile on my face, humming the tune to that lame (albeit ironic) Backstreet Boys song.

_I'll be The One… _

Is it any wonder why I've been demoted from ship's first mate to mess hall punch-line? I saw the looks on their faces. I'll never live this one down. But I can't bring myself to care. Not tonight. I'm still flying. I'm still soaring with Neo's hand in mine, his fingers slipping into empty places I didn't even know I had. I keep replaying the experience in my head, addicted to the memory. Addicted to _him_.

"_Whoa_."

The breathless exclamation was stuttered as he stumbled on the ledge, his balance faltering on the concrete I'd broken when I landed. I reached out and grabbed his lapel, yanking him back, and he collided with me, our arms around each other.

"We made it," I whispered after we regained balance, my composure never faltering as I stated the obvious. I couldn't look away from his eyes. And he couldn't look away from mine. "Congratulations, Neo. You just passed the jump test."

And I recognized that voice that I used. That was my _you-can-jump-me-next_ voice. Not that any of my colleagues would believe their ears if they heard me _name_ that seductive purr for precisely what it is. I'm good at keeping my personal life _very_ personal. There are a few men in Zion who have known that voice, none of them in the army, and all of them discreet.

But none of them like Neo. Good men, with good hearts… but _definitely_ not like Neo.

He picked me up, lifted me off my feet, and spun me around on the roof of the hotel, laughing and jumping. "We're alive! We're alive, Trin! I can't believe it! This is incredible! _You're_ incredible! And I'm the king of the world! _Whoo-hoo_!"

Shameless pilfering from the blockbuster _Titanic_ aside, I shared his sentiments exactly. He made me laugh, again. For the hundredth time that night. And the fact that he had the balls to _pick me up_ (I'm still IRS-D base Trinity, after all) was rather impressive. No, not impressive. Romantic. Wildly, madly romantic. I would have kissed him right then and there, if I weren't certain we had an audience of crewmen gathered around the monitors, placing bets on whether or not I would do just that. So I just held onto him, beaming and losing myself in the moment, adoring him for his joy and excitement and the kind of innocence that doesn't exist in this world. Not that he was wrong to celebrate. Only one other person has ever passed the jump test on the _second_ try (not that I like to brag about it).

"Hey, Trin."

I gasp, ripped from my pleasant reminiscing by a rather unwelcome voice. "Cypher," I greet him as nicely as I can, hoping he hasn't been watching me for long. "What are you doing up here? You weren't supposed to relieve me."

"I know. But I felt like taking a shift."

It isn't the first time he's wanted my nighthawk duties. And it's unusual for him, the ship's slacker, to want more screentime. "Watching anyone interesting?" I ask. "I don't recall assigning anyone new to you."

"Naw, just thought you'd be tired from that hot date with Neo. You know, you two make the cutest couple. All of us think so."

"What are you doing here late every night, Cypher?" I demand evenly. "I noticed the memory cards have been wiped more often than they should have been. Entire hours of airtime are missing."

"The Woman in Red and I had a few dates of our own, if you must know." I grimace, and he gins that insincere, twinkling grin of his. "She likes privacy."

"You're disgusting." It seems I'm stating the obvious quite a lot tonight. I stare straight into his eyes, and it's only a few seconds before he looks away. Down to my hands, to the screens, and he lingers awkwardly.

"Cypher, you aren't happy here," I observe, tone softer than the one I normally use with him. I know suffering when I see it. "Why don't you transfer to somewhere else? I know some people in Zion who are well-connected in software R&D. I'll make a call or two, get you in somewhere good."

"You, know, I really appreciate that," he says, with a courtesy that isn't like him at all. "But actually, I've already filed an application for a transfer."

"Oh?" I frown, completely surprised, and mildly displeased to be learning of this development so abruptly. "To where?"

"No, no, no. Don't want to jinx it," he says, crossing his fingers. "I'm still waiting on an answer. But I promise, if it goes through, you will be the first one I tell. Because saying goodbye to you, Trinity, is going to be the hardest part."

His arm rests on the back of my chair, his face too close for comfort. And yet, I can only feel relief that he's leaving. And, perhaps, a flicker of guilt. Because it's no mystery how he feels about me, or that I'm the only reason he has persisted on the Neb as long as he has. I unplugged him long ago into this world that he hates, and indirectly, I suppose I've kept him in it, too.

Thank God, he's finally putting it behind him.

"Look," I say, sliding out of the chair, more to put some distance between us than anything else. "I won't lie to you and say that I'm sorry to see you go. But I do wish you well, Cypher. I hope that wherever you end up, you'll be happy."

I look into his eyes, meaning everything that I just said, and wanting him to know it. I don't like to leave unfinished business. I want a clean break, no hard feelings, no emotional baggage; such nonsense clutters the mind and drains the spirit. And I need both to be strong when I do my job. Otherwise, this entire crew could be dead tomorrow.

My unexpressed longing for Neo and its deleterious effect on my work serves as case and point. Tonight, Cypher probably would do a better job of nighthawking than I, though it costs me greatly to acknowledge the fact. And so I don't try to stop him as he takes possession of the operator's chair. He isn't looking at me, and still hasn't said a word in response to my well-wishes, almost as if he hasn't heard them. But why should I expect anything different from him?

So I turn to leave, heading towards the shaft which leads to the lower level, resolving anew to take Neo aside and tell him how I feel. I can't wait any longer; I can't let the Oracle's grim prophecy continue to control my life. If I were that easily manipulated, I would have taken the blue pill.

"Hey, Trin." Cypher's voice, so soft I almost don't hear it, stops me midway down the ladder. "Sleep well," he says. "You've earned it."

"Yeah," I reply, not needing his permission to enjoy my rest. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

The light filtering out from Neo's bedroom door catches my notice as I peer down the corridor, and I'm overcome with both hope and dread at the same time. He's still awake, and I didn't expect to be presented with an opportunity to speak with him so soon. I still haven't decided what to say. And I'm sure my hair looks like hell. 

_"Shit_."

I run my hand through the catastrophe on my head, and pinch my cheeks a few times to coax some color form my capillaries. I'm embarrassed as I do it, but I bite down on my lips, too, nervously tucking hair behind my ears. Double-oh-fire-hazard has seen me looking worse, but this ship's fluorescent lights are a woman's worst nightmare, and I haven't been sleeping well. Not that I'm vain. I check my breath. Or presumptuous.

_Alright, Resistance-fighter-Barbie. That'll do._

I take a deep breath and stand outside his door, heart pounding in my throat. I tell myself that I'm just going to wish him a goodnight, but I know in my heart that I won't stop there. This is it. I close my eyes as I softly call his name and nudge the heavy metal forward to peek my head in. But he isn't inside.

_Déjà-vu._

I've been here before, the first night Neo spent in this bedroom, back when I couldn't screw up enough nerve even to face him. I tried to sneak by without being seen, only to find the room empty. So I folded his sweater and made his bed, using my obsessive-compulsive disorder as a convenient excuse to avoid going to find him in the mess hall.

I'm tempted to do it again. The room is even more a mess this time, as he's been living in it for nearly two weeks now. I smile, but resist the temptation to tidy up, deciding rather to respect his privacy. Though, if we ever do become lovers, he will have to be trained. No more blowing me up, no more messing with my car (Paulo is veritably traumatized, vain creature that he is), and no more using the floor as a closet. I should make a list before I forget. And is that _food_ on his desk?

"Oh, _gross_."

My fingertips itch, and it takes only a moment for me to break, wading through the clutter to collect the dishes. And as I march towards the mess hall to clean them, I realize I'm grinding my teeth. The honeymoon is over. When I find him, Neo is going to find that his adorable smile and big puppy-dog eyes will offer him no defense against _First Officer_ Trinity… she is impervious to his charms! She is going to make it clear that on this ship, her rules are meant to be followed, and we do _not_ eat at the computers… _Then_, and _only_ once I make that clear… I'll tell him that I'm in love with him.

_It's a plan. _

The sound of laughter stops me, only because I recognize the whooping cackle as Switch, who only laughs like that when she's plastered. I scowl. It seems like everyone is asking for an ass-kicking tonight.

"Oh shit, oh _shit_," I hear her stutter, barely getting the words out as she gasps for air. "Trinity was right about you, rookie. This guy is hilarious!"

"Trin thinks I'm funny?"

In response to Neo's excited, hopeful question, Switch dissolves into laughter again. "Oh, Christ. This guy could do stand-up!"

"Naw… Can't stand up. Too dizzy to stand up right now."

"I _love_ this guy!" announces Switch.

"No you don't! You called me a pussy," Neo slurs, sounding hurt. "And you've always been mean to me…"

"Switch, say you're sorry." I recognize this as Apoch. "You have been a real bitch to him."

"I have not!" A choir of voices proclaim disagreement. "Oh, fine, you big bunch of pussies. Neo, come here."

My cheeks burn as I rush into the mess-hall. If this is anything like it sounds, they'll all be returning to Zion in body-bags…

"Oh, my God!" I hear my own voice call out as I nearly drop the plate and S-shaped spoon that I'm holding. I've never seen Switch hug _anyone_ before. But there she is, her arms around Neo, whose shirt and pants are piled in the center of the table around a scattering of playing cards. "What the hell is _this_?"

Apoch and Mouse look up at me, the first shuffling his cards nervously in his hands, the second looking ready to scurry under the table for cover. In the time it takes me to scare the hell out of them, Switch has managed to pry herself away from my Neo. She hiccups, and holds her hands in the air, where I can see them.

"_Trinity_!" Neo greets me as if I'd just risen from the dead. "You're back! Oh, thank _God_!"

He practically pushes Switch out of the way to stagger towards me, clad only in boxers and a pair of socks that don't match. "Where did you go for _so_ _long_?" he asks, throwing his arms around my neck. "I missed you so much!"

"We told you already, Neo," Apoch says patiently. "Trinity had to go to _work_."

"Oh." He pulls back at looks at me up and down, moving his hands to my waist. "You're not hurt, are you? The agents didn't get you?"

"No, she wasn't doing that kind of work," Apoch explains, in a tone that tells me he'd already been through this with poor Neo. "She was just watching the code. Very safe."

Neo hugs me again, squeezing so tightly I think he might actually break me in half. "Oh, good. _Good_."

I glare at Switch, Apoch and Mouse over his bare shoulder. "When I get him off me," I say with a voice that would frighten a sentinel, "You're all going to die."

"Trin?"

"Yes, Neo."

"I'm cold."

"Then maybe you should put your clothes back on."

"I can't."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because Mouse won them in the last round of thirty-one."

"Is that so?" I reply. Mouse looks ready to throw up. "Well, that _is_ a problem."

"He can have them back!" proclaims the guilty party, suddenly brimming with the giving spirit. He hands me the shirt and pants, keeping his body (and vital organs) as far away as possible. "We were just playing around."

Playing around, indeed. The traditional hazing associated with passing the jump test is usually much worse (I have the tattoo to prove it). But I'd been unplugged for nearly a year, and had been through two semesters of training. Those circumstances are hardly comparable to a man who has been out fewer than two months. The One or not, he isn't ready to ingest Dozer's paint-thinner, and these three should know better.

I tell them so as I banish them off to bed, helping Neo maintain his balance as he faces the terrific challenge of getting the right foot in the right pant-leg. I'll deal with them more harshly in the morning, if the hangovers don't kill them first. Right now, I have more pressing concerns.

"Neo, hold onto the table, I'm going to get you some pills."

"_Pills_? No, no more pills. I'm _through_ with pills, Trin. Never again."

I leave him to struggle with his sweater and boots as I fish through the cupboards for acetaminophen. "I know. But you _want_ to take these ones."

"Why?"

I ignore his question as I count out five hundred milligrams of the chalky white capsules and pour him a large mug of water. "Here," I sit him down and present the meds, but he moves away as if I were exposing him to deadly nerve gas.

"No way. Not until you tell me _exactly_ what they do."

"It's Tylenol, Neo." I can't help but smile a little. "Stop being so difficult."

"_Difficult_? Yeah, if I wake up in a pod of goo tomorrow, I'll _show_ you difficult," he grumbles. "The minute I saw you, I knew you were trouble. The hot ones are _always_ trouble… spying on me… playing games with me… screwing with my mind... _Red Queen_ Trinity… _IRS-D Base_ Trinity… beautiful, perfect… _wonderful_ Trinity…"

"Neo, take the-"

"And you _electrocuted_ me!" he blurts out, as if he'd just uncovered the critical piece of the puzzle that proves my ill-intentions.

"Well, I am _truly_ sorry about that, Neo," I retort sarcastically, raising my eyebrow. "Next time you have a mechanical parasite, I'll leave it to nest in your colon. But don't call me when the eggs hatch."

He grimaces. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"No, I'm sorry, Neo. Take the pills and drink the water," I insist, taking his jaw in my hand to get him to look at me. I take note of his pupils, which seem fine. "You're going to be alright. _Trust me_."

He hesitates for a moment, apparently calculating his next move very carefully, and then follows my instructions. Though, it doesn't escape my attention that as he drinks, Neo narrows his eyes at me suspiciously over the rim of the mug. _I'm watching you, Red Queen... _

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Now I see what had Switch so tickled. Neo is an adorable drunk. And somehow… _charming_, even though he is halfway dead and thinks that I'm trying to poison him.

_Beautiful, perfect… wonderful Trinity. _

"Okay, soldier," I say once he's done, standing him up. "Now march."

"Huh?"

"It's past your bedtime." I gently push on his back, steering him out of the room. "I've got you. Now, just put one foot in front of the other… and everything will be fine."

* * *

_tbc in pt2..._


	20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN, PT2

_**a/n: Many thanks to those who review and enjoy this fiction. **_

_**This chapter is dedicated to Zinck, who did me the great service of counting how many seconds poor Neo was dead for at the conclusion of M1. From now on, "89" will be known as "Zinck's Number" ... like Avagadro's number... but smaller (if you like, we can write it as 8.9 X 10 pwr1 ).**_

_**

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_**Chapter 16 (part 2 of 2)  
**_

_"I'll be The One… oh, I'll be The One… yeah, baby, baby, please…"_

"Shh!" I hiss onto his back as Neo wanders ahead of me unsteadily and reluctantly, taking each step down the dark, narrow corridor as if it requires great effort and concentration. His ghastly singing echoes off the metal, his voice cracking, and raised several octaves to imitate the song. "You'll wake up Morpheus," I warn.

"Oh… we wouldn't want to get his hopes up, is that it? _I'll be the One_… Yes, Morpheus! Your brainwashing worked! _I'll be the One!" _

I reach up to cover his mouth. "Shut it!"

"No…" Neo spins around and fights me off, but as he catches my wrists, he stumbles back and nearly trips. "_Whoa_ . Ship's wobbly tonight. Tank's not doing a very good job of driving, is he?"

I grab onto his arm to keep him up. "I think you're not doing a very good job of walking. But we'll get there… come on…"

"No, no… wait. I need to tell you something. Something about that song. But it has to stay between _us_."

"Jesus," I curse under my breath, sure that half the crew is listening. "You'd better whisper it to me, then."

Neo nods gravely. "The agents can hear us, eh?"

"God, I hope not."

"Me, too." He pulls me over to him and lowers his voice. "But I trust _you_, Trin. I didn't mean what I said before, about the pills. I didn't mean it, okay? I trust you… I really, _really_ do."

"I know you do, Neo."

He leans his forehead down on mine. "And I'm sorry I blew you up."

"It's okay. I've been through worse."

"You're so good to me, Trin…" He cradles my jaw. "You're _really_ good to me. Not like the rest of them. That's why I'm going to tell _you_ and not anyone else. Especially not Switch. You know she called me a pussy?"

"Yeah, well." I mirror his gesture and rub my thumb over his cheek. "I think she _more_ than apologized for that, Neo."

"And… you know, Mouse took my clothes."

"I know. I know." I humor him as he pouts. "Now what is it you want to tell me?"

"It's that _song_," he says, frowning. "The one that goes _I'll be The One, I'll be The One... _it's just one more thing, you know? One more thing they want me to do. And they put it in a goddamned pop song! They stuck it in my head!"

He separates from me to lean back onto the wall, and something in his face pulls at my heart as he sinks down to the ground. I crouch down in front of him and he sighs, looking at me with big brown eyes as sullen and lost as I've ever seen.

"I just… I don't _want_ to be The One," he whispers. "I'm not strong like you, Trin. I'm just not. I wish I were. But I'm just… just _me_."

"Oh, Neo." I take his hands in mine and entwine our fingers, rubbing circles around his first knuckle because I don't know what else I can do. The entire world is resting on his shoulders, and it isn't fair. He never asked for this. And if I could lift the responsibility from him and take it on myself, I would, but I can't. As much as I try to save him from it, I can't stop loving him.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," I say. "I promise."

"I'm so scared, Trin."

"Come here." I put my arm around him, and he rests his head on my shoulder, under my hand. "It'll be okay," I murmur into his ear. "We'll figure this out together. You and me."

"Trinity." He pushes himself upright, and takes my face in his hands. "Do you want me to be The One?" he asks, eyes locking with mine.

My mouth opens, but I can't form the words, so I drift away and nudge him up. "Come on, let's get to bed. You need to sleep this off."

"_No_. No, you need to tell me," he argues, refusing to move and pulling me back, close to him. "I need to know if _you_ want me to. It's important."

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

"Why?"

"Because I'd do it for you," he answers. "Only for you. _Anything_. For you."

I sigh, and whisper back, "I don't think it works that way."

"It could. That's what I thought up on the rooftop. I thought it _could_ work like that. It must have been you. I can _fly_ for you… you want me to _fly_, too? I'd do it…"

I shake my head, and try to coax him off the floor. He isn't making any sense, and he's bound to catch pneumonia is he spends the night in the hallway. With all of my strength, I manage to get him onto his feet. Neo walks with me in silence the rest of the way, and I glance over at him once or twice; he seems oddly pensive, thoughtful.

"It means something," he says as we arrive in his room. "It has to…"

I don't respond as I help Neo to collapse into the bed, on top of a balled-up comforter and some discarded clothing. I think he might already be asleep as I pull off his boots, until he grunts and reaches under him to pull out an object that was apparently giving him some discomfort. A fork. I grimace, not wanting to think about how cutlery got between his sheets.

"Shit, this place is a mess," he complains, as if he'd only just realized the fact, clumsily tossing the utensil on his nightstand.

"Yeah, don't get be started," I mutter, sitting next to him and untangling the covers as best I can.

"But you should… you _should_ get started. Place is a mess. You need to clean it."

My hands stop moving and I scowl. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Like you used to… you never clean for me anymore. It was better in here when you cleaned for me… I liked it."

"You're lucky you're so drunk," I say evenly, pushing him down and covering him in blankets. "Goodnight, Neo."

"No, wait. You _have_ to clean up. So I wake up tomorrow and know it was all _real_… our date… and when you rescued me from Switch in the mess hall… I don't want to forget… I need something to remember you by."

I like his use of the terms _date_ and _rescued_. "You mean, besides all the bruises and the hangover?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. Besides all that. Christ, my ass hurts. Your car Picasso kicked my ass."

I smile in spite of myself. There is something compelling about Neo's slurred request as he lies in a bed of forks, beaten and battered from our… good God, our _date_, half dead drunk from his crewmates' version of tough love. And I still can't completely rid myself of the angst in his eyes back in that corridor. So big and brown and…

"Goddamn it," I mutter, hardly believing what I'm about to do.

I rise from the bed to stand akimbo in the center of the mess, trying my best to rationalize my unholy desire to play maid for him. It isn't a kink, I tell myself. It's an obsessive-compulsion. It's charming and hygienic.

Then Neo mumbles something about separating his _delicates_ from the colors when I do the laundry, and I very nearly walk out.

"I'm only doing this if you don't watch me," I say, catching the look he gives me as I bend over to pick up his sweaters. "Roll over and go to sleep."

He reluctantly does so, and I think I catch him grumble something about my being a tease. The voyeur. I suppress a giggle at the thought and go about my work, quietly sorting the laundry, folding up his clothes and meticulously organizing his desk. I'm midway through alphabetizing his memory cards when I notice that he is looking at me again, staring at me with what seems to be great interest, or fascination. "It must mean something," he repeats that same sentence from before. I fold my arms, wondering what he could be getting at. "That I didn't fall," he says once he has my attention. "You kept me up. It had to have been you."

"I'm going now, Neo. Try and rest," I say quietly, shutting off the light at his bedside. "I'll wake you for breakfast."

"Stay." He catches my arm, and tugs me down to the bed. I don't fight him off, but tell him again to get some sleep, running my hand over his head soothingly. His short hair prickles at my fingertips, and I enjoy the sensation. I can't help myself the indulgence of comforting him, of touching him, and after a few moments of attentive stroking, Neo closes his eyes and whispers, "Now I know it was you."

"Shh."

"No, it was," comes the deep, groggy murmur. "I jumped, and it was all you. I thought of you, Trin. I thought of kissing you, and I didn't fall. I want you to know that."

My heart stops beating. "Neo-"

"Don't leave. Let it last for a few more minutes. Let it last."

"I won't leave," I say, my voice faint in the cold, hallow room. I resume my gentle caresses, listening to his breathing become slower, heavier. Minutes pass, and then, in a sigh into the dark, uttered somewhere between dreaming and consciousness, Neo tells me he loves me.

And I don't leave him for a long time after that. Not until I hear Cypher descend from the core at oh-three hundred, his footsteps wrenching me from whatever shocked, elated, dreamy anticipation I'd fallen into. Rationality tells me to stop pining by Neo's bedside and wait until tomorrow. He'll still love you tomorrow, Trinity. And I know he loves me. I think I knew it before he said it.

I kiss his forehead and rise to leave, already tortured with the separation.

Only for a few hours. Go, get some sleep, Trinity. Don't worry. _There's time._

**_

* * *

Zion, the Andersons' Master Bedroom, circa 2219 _**

Twenty years later, my husband listens to the end of my story with an expression that anyone else would classify as boredom. I know better. He is very close to strangling me.

"Is that all?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes. That's all."

"You're sure?"

I pretend to think about it. "Uh-hum."

"And… is there any particular reason you kept this to yourself for the last two decades?"

I'm about to say that he never asked, but I hold my tongue. I'm not wearing any clothes, so the fact that I can run faster than him won't help me. "I guess I didn't think that it was important. You didn't remember."

"But now everything that happened the following day… well, you… you _knew_ I was in love with you."

"Yes?"

"And you couldn't have found one moment to bring me up to speed before I got shot to death?"

"Is it guilt you want? Are you guilt-tripping me over that _again_? You know, _you_ could have said something."

"I _did_ say something! The night _before_!"

"And then you woke up the next morning, blissfully unaware! Oh, good morning, Trin. Christ, I have a terrible headache. What the hell happened? Was it you who cleaned all the crap off my bedroom floor? 'Cause, you know, I can't find my fork… it wasn't in its usual state of being jammed into my _ass_ when I woke up…"

"And then what did Trinity say? Blah, blah, blah! Naggity nag nag nag…"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"You _bitched_ at me about the dishes! I confessed my undying love to you, and the next time you saw me, you yelled at me for eating in front of the computer."

I nearly dissolve into laughter at the absurdity of the idea. And every word he is saying is absolutely true.

"Well, I'm glad one of us sees the humor in this."

"No, no." I wipe the smirk off my face. "It's just… well, what did you expect? I hadn't slept all night, pacing back and forth in my quarters, turning myself into a nervous wreck just waiting to see you. But being considerate, I let you sleep in while I made the crew breakfast… and then you pop your head in the mess-hall, looking for your _fork_, for God's sake. I was at such a loss for words, I just blurted out what came most naturally to me."

"And I _quote_," Neo says, adopting a fussy, feminine screech to imitate me, "Neo, I've confiscated your fork. When you can keep your dishes out of your bed and in your mesh bag where they belong, I will return it. Now drop and give me twenty!"

"I said no such thing!" (In truth, only the last sentence was inaccurate)

"And don't think I don't remember that you _never_ gave that fork back to me!"

When he says this, a grin spreads across my lips, and I look away form him.

"What?"

"I still have it," I say. "If you want it, I'll give it to you."

"No, you do _not_ still have it."

I wrap the sheets around my body to make a strapless dress as I shuffle off the bed and open my bottom dresser drawer. I remove some items from the front- my hairbrush, a few barrettes, a sequenced scarf one of the orphans stitched for me. The old metal box is in the back, an object that stands out as notably dull and plain, wrapped in a grey, threadbare cloth. I lift it out, replace the other items in their proper places, and join Neo back in bed.

"Are you a betting man?" I ask, opening the pewter lid and looking through the contents. Most are gifts he gave me long ago, love letters, photographs, and jewelry I don't wear anymore for fear of losing it. I also find a lock of Rorie's hair, taken just after she was born with thick, jet black tresses that fell to her shoulders. I smile, and hand it to Neo as I continue to look.

"Aha," I declare success finally when I produce two metallic utensils tied together with a ribbon. One is my spoon, still bent out of shape. And the other is Neo's fork.

"Here," I say, removing the latter and uncurling strands of raven silk from my husband's pinky. "You have been very good these past twenty years, keeping the silverware out of our bed. I'm trusting that you won't _misuse_ this…"

For the first time since opening my box, I look over at him, and Neo gazes back, lips curled into an adoring smile. He takes the utensil from me and spins it around in his hand. "I can't believe you kept them all this time," he says. "Twenty years…"

"It's almost a shame to separate them after so long." I hold up the bent-up spoon. "She might get lonely, Neo."

"Oh, I doubt that." Neo takes the box and puts it on the nightstand. "Between you and me, Trin. I heard a rumor that the spoon has been having an illicit affair. Very kinky. They're planning to elope."

"Oh? With whom?"

"One of the plates from the glass cabinet in the hall."

My brow furrows. Now I've lost him.

"But they have to keep it a secret," Neo whispers into my ear. "Because the fork would be furious to hear that… _the dish ran away with his spoon_."

"Oh, Neo." And we wonder why Rorie doesn't want to bring her friends over.

"Lucky for them, the dish has a cousin who is legally certified to perform the ceremony. They call him a _licensed plate_."

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet the Andersons. I grab a pillow and cover Neo's face with it, in an attempt to put him out of his misery (stick a fork in him, he's done). Neo laughs, and in one quick movement manages to reverse our position, straddling me and pinning my hands above my head. I fight back only half-heartedly, because his mouth lands on my lips, then to my neck, and when he traces a line down lower, I give up completely.

"Does this mean you've forgiven me?" I ask, squirming a little as he reaches my navel.

"Hm? What? Oh… _that_. Uhm… No, of course not. You've been bad, keeping secrets from me. And now you're going to be punished by Master Neo." He returns to my breasts and kisses in circles, mumbling into my skin. "You naughty, disobedient… beautiful… perfect… _wonderful_ woman."

Master Neo has a short attention span for discipline (hence why Mistress Trinity often has to take over). Still, I let him roam, toying with his hair as he nips at my skin, gently caressing my curves. It's post-coital play, which more often than not leads to more serious things, and it very nearly does, until we roll over, and I'm nearly impaled by Neo's sadistic fork. We both laugh, and search though the sheets for the spoon, putting them aside to avoid injury.

"I'm sorry I didn't remember," he breathes, snuggling next to me and covering us in blankets. "I'm sorry I didn't remember telling you I love you."

"Mmm. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you that you told me that you love me. You probably won't believe me, but I almost did tell you, that morning. After I chewed you out about the dishes, and you sulked over to the sink to wash them… I was watching you. _Wanting_ you. And I was about to come up behind you and tell you how I felt. But just then, the crew came in for breakfast."

Our legs entwine, and he listens to me soberly, almost solemnly. "And then… who knows how that day might have been different," he muses.

"Yeah." I smile sadly. "Who knows."

But the reality is, that morning Morpheus took Neo to see the Oracle. Less than half an hour after we ate, I was in the passenger's side of that car, looking back at Neo's bewildered expression as the buildings drifted by like clouds.

_I used to eat there. Really good noodles,_ was his inside joke to me. And then, he'd turned more serious. _I have these memories from my life… none of them happened. What does that mean?_

There was that question again. What does it _mean_.

My entire life fell to pieces that day. Within an hour, half my crew was dead. And within two hours, so was Neo.

Clinically dead, for eighty-nine seconds…

* * *


	21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

**_a/n: Thanks so much to those who continue to review ever chapter, and to the girls (and one boy) through the Looking Glass for inspiration. _**

**_To see my concept sketches for Rorie, Trin, and Syn (UC), go to the following URL: _**

**_www(dot)xanga(dot)com(slash)kristeb__

* * *

_**

_**Chapter 17  
Zion. circa2219 **_

"Eighty-nine point _oh-three_ seconds, to be exact," Rorie corrects, beaming delight as she reads the digits from the screen. "Measuring the flat line from the t-wave to the p-wave crests on the EKG."

Dressed in a crisp white lab-jacket and a pair of latex gloves, the bubbly young scientist sighs her wonder and satisfaction. This data has been lost for nearly twenty years, charred to a crisp in the scattered remains of the Neb. And now she finally has it. She can finally hold the truth in her hands. "You're a miracle worker, Knight," she congratulates the man who just spent five hours extracting the files from the damaged hardware. "If you'll forgive the pun."

"Yeah, the pun I'll forgive," the he replies dryly. "What I won't forgive is the phone call at two in the morning, asking me to come down to the lab and doctor these computer chips back together for you. It couldn't have waited?"

"Oh come on, where is your sense of adventure!" Rorie grabs his arm and drags him over to the tray of memory cards she'd been picking through when she made her discovery. "Do you realize that we are now witnesses to history? Books have been written about this! Children are told the bedtime story about how my father was resurrected from the dead… and now, we have uncovered the proof! Doesn't that _excite_ you?"

Knight examines her for a second or two. Her face is lit up like a light bulb, glowing, as she would say, in anthropological triumph. He smiles.

"Well?"

"Well, I think… I'm delighted that you're happy. But, I just don't see how this really proves anything that _matters_. So your dad was dead…"

"And then he came back to life." She points to the screen to emphasize her point.

"Yeah. I see that. But… well, okay. Let me put it to you this way." He leans on the table and pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, putting his thoughts together. "My senior year at the Academy, I had to do this two-month internship at fleet medical," he begins. "Worst experience of my life, let me tell you. I passed out halfway through a delivery."

"They let you deliver a baby?"

"Well, I was watching from behind the glass. Anyway, the point is, I saw a lot of traumatizing things. This one night, a guy comes in, cardiac arrest. Died before they got him on the table, and he must have been dead for a good two, three minutes, at least. But they zap him with the paddles, and he comes back to life. So there you go. That guy's EKG was probably no less _miraculous_ than your dad's."

Rorie folds her arms across her chest smugly, as she often does when she is convinced she's right. "But Dad didn't get the paddles. Mom _kissed_ him."

Knight grins. "Yeah, well. Six of one, half a dozen of the other."

"What?"

"I'm just saying that…" He trails off and shrugs, running a hand through his curly, golden hair. "Maybe those lips pack a punch."

"So that's your big scientific argument? My mom is a _good kisser_?"

"Hey, all I'm saying is if I were dead, and Trin kissed me… hell, I'd come back to life, just to get seconds."

"Oh, my _God_!" Rorie's jaw drops in replusion. "You did not just say that about my mom! Knight, she's old enough to be your mother… for God's sake, she practically is your mother!"

He just chuckles, rather amused by her reaction to his comment. Free-borns are so easy to frazzle. "You're jealous, is that it? Well, you shouldn't be. You're hot, too. In fact, between you and Trin, I'd have to say it's a tie. The acorn certainly didn't fall far from the tree."

"Knight-"

"Okay, okay. You're the hotter one. But don't tell Trin I think so. It'll crush her."

"Oh, God, Knight don't say another word."

"Huh?"

His smile fades as he watches Rorie's facial expression, which goes from disgusted to mortified in an instant, and she isn't looking at him. She's looking over his shoulder. "Hi, Mom," she says uneasily as his stomach sinks past his knees. "We didn't see you standing there."

Knight stops breathing and spins around, blood rushing from his face so fast he very nearly faints. And what he finds behind him nearly gives him a heart attack- either from shock or relief. Of course, there is nobody there. Rorie bursts out laughing.

"I suppose I deserved that one."

"Yeah, and I wish… I wish I had a camera!" she whoops, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, my gosh! Your face turned _green_!"

"Well, it's nice you're having so much fun. You know, I could have stayed in bed."

"No, no," She tries to stop laughing, but fails miserably. "Just… give me a minute…"

Knight watches her struggle with wave after wave of giggles, before he finally can't take any more, and wraps one arm around her waist so he can muffle her cackling with his free hand. Rorie tries to fight him off, squirming and twisting, an ungraceful dance which ends with her against the wall, laughing uncontrollably as he pins her wrists above her head. "Say you're sorry," he demands.

She shakes her head, no. So he runs his hand along her ribcage, just brushing the place where he knows she is ticklish beyond reason. "No! No!" Rorie pleads. "Stop! I'm sorry!"

"Are you sure?"

She nods, almost violently, catching her breath. "Yes. Please, don't."

Knight holds her for a few extended moments, like a predator ready to pounce on his prey. Her hair is in her face, deep brown eyes wide and anxious, begging him not to torture her. They should have outgrown this kind of roughhousing long ago, he thinks, his gaze drifting lower to her perfectly formed lips. They should have stopped this when she was twelve.

"Okay then," Knight says abruptly, releasing her with a quick kiss to the forehead. "I'm going back to bed."

"No, wait." Rorie catches his arm. "I wanted to discuss something with you. Mom and Dad's eighteenth wedding anniversary is coming up. I was thinking of what to get them."

"Last year, I programmed the construct to rain rose petals while Moon River played in the background. The crew got a kick out of it."

"Yeah, well. As romantic as I'm sure that was, I've got another idea. It came to me while I was writing up this documentary about how they fell in love. But, I need your help with it. Are you in?"

Something about the look on her face is setting alarm bells off in his mind. "Wait. What are you planning?"

"Well, remember that time you dressed up in drag for Halloween? You were acting in that play at the Fringe Festival… what's it called the… the uhm… Roxy Horror-"

"_The Rocky Horror Picture Show_."

"Yeah, that's it. You had that really great singing voice. And your dancing was pretty good, too… well, until your heel broke off midway through that strange version of the Macarena."

"It's called the _Time Warp_, and thank you for reminding me of the most humiliating moment of my life."

"It wasn't that bad. The audience gave you a standing ovation."

"I mean when your mom rushed to the infirmary when she heard they'd set my ankle, and she found me lying in a hospital bed, wearing lipstick, a cast, and a black leather corset."

Rorie holds back a giggle. Yes, that had been the subject of many dinnertime conversations. "Well, don't worry. I won't ask you to do that again. This time, _I'll_ be wearing the black leather corset."

"In that case, I'm definitely in."

"I'm glad you said that. Because I need a male lead."

Knight falters, and realizes that he'd just been manipulated somehow. "Wait, no. What do you mean? Lead for what?"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough." Rorie smiles suggestively and winks. "In the meantime, you and I have got some research to do."

"No way. I'm though with these damn computer chips. Goddamn things gave me a headache."

"No. Not the chips." She shuts down the computers and takes his hand. "Call it a fun little… _fieldtrip_."

* * *

_The Zionist Museum of Heritage_ is not Knight's idea of fun. Nor is exploring the newest exhibition, '_Neo and Trinity, the Early Years_,' his idea of an appropriate fieldtrip (considering he'd just had dinner at The One's house last night, the whole thing seems rather silly). Naturally, Rorie disagrees. If it's educational, it couldn't possibly be a waste of time. Besides, it might inspire them for what she has cryptically begun to call their 'project.' Oh, and yes please, she'd like the audio tour. 

It doesn't help that people keep staring at them. No, not at them. Staring at her, The Daughter of The One, as she roams about with earphones around her neck, pad and pen in her hand, taking everything in with a keen, critical eye. She pretends not to notice the pointing and whispering, but they both know this will be all over the papers tomorrow. Aurora, tireless patroness of art and culture in Zion, was spotted yesterday morning at an exhibit celebrating her parents' past. Oh, and she was with some guy. Knight frowns. They always spell his name wrong… '_Night._'

With a subtle gesticulation, Rorie motions him over to her as she slowly circles a life-sized marble statue, titled by an iron plate on the floor, _The Resurrection_. It stands out among some of the other items in the room, many of which are mural-like paintings of Trinity throwing herself over her lover's body as blazing laser beams rip the ship apart around them, a sentinel's claws inches form tearing her to shreds. For effect, the original beast is displayed in all its terrifying glory on cables hanging from the ceiling, like a set of dinosaur bones, poised to look as fierce as possible. The rusted, inanimate tentacles stab out into a gathering of patrons, and the ruby eyes have been wired to batteries to restore the creature's once fiery, iridescent stare.

Knight shakes his head. Trin would hate this. People are actually taking pictures next to the damn thing. Mostly free-borns. Go figure. Without a second glance, he returns his attention to Rorie.

The sculpture she studies is a milky white facsimile of a much younger version of her parents, elegantly formed with smooth curves and subtle details. Trinity is the same height as Rorie, the same build, tiny and dainty as she bends over Neo's horizontal likeness, hands resting on his chest. And she kisses him, their faces flowing together like water, both bodies carved from the same piece of stone.

"They say that she told him she wasn't afraid," Rorie whispers, brushing her fingers along her father's smooth, ivory cheek. Pensively, she regards the sentinel from a distance, staring through the crowd, choosing to ignore the spectacle. "Can you imagine?"

Knight looks down at the chiseled rendering of his captain. In fact, he can imagine. "Sounds like something she'd say."

"Mm. Let's just hope insanity skips a generation," Rorie murmurs drolly, flipping through her museum guide to the appropriate page.

"Sorry, hon. I think you're genetically doomed for greatness."

"Listen to this. It says here that the work was commissioned by the council as a wedding gift to my parents. It's been on loan to the museum ever since."

"Guess Trin didn't want it in her living room. Can't imagine why."

She smiles and slides her arm through his. "You know, I used to beg my mother to tell me this story. Always this one. And the way she told it… this was the kind of image I always had in my mind afterwards. Probably because she knew better than to scare me with details about sentinels and agents."

"Or bore you with data from the EKG."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Knight. Do I _bore_ you?"

"No, that isn't what I meant." Knight leads her from one room to the next, away from a group of people who had been eavesdropping on their conversation. "All I'm saying is, maybe you're looking for truth in the wrong place. You can't prove a miracle, Rorie. You just have to take it on faith."

"That's a very unusual statement coming from you," she observes. "I didn't think you were a religious person."

"I'm not. God had nothing to do with bringing your dad back. Neither did that kiss, though I'm sure it was a good one."

"Then what? If not God, a kiss… or the _paddles_?"

Knight arches his eyebrow and draws her attention to a photograph mounted behind glass. It looks like it was taken on the Neb, not long after her father was unplugged. Neo and Trinity are huddled together in the operator's chair, fast asleep under a blanket. She is on his lap, his head on her shoulder. The plaque below reads,

'_Reproduction courtesy of Councilor Morpheus, who wishes to remind the people that the birth of The One, was not the death of a man._'

"Love," Knight says thoughtfully, much to Rorie's immense surprise. "Maybe that's the only miracle he needed. To be everything he already was, right from the start. Maybe… that's all any of us ever need."

* * *

**_Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199_**

Neo tastes blood in his mouth as he kisses her, as he cups the back of her neck and pulls her deeper, like he has never kissed a woman before and never will again. And she feels like the first. The first who has ever moved him so intensely with her lips, who has ever touched him deeper than the surface, penetrating him completely, warming him from the inside out. His heart drowns in Trinity as his body drowns in pain, and his lungs scream for air. He takes a breath from her mouth as she whispers to him, lean back.

The needle slides over his nerves like a scalpel slicing bone when she presses down on his forehead and removes the jack. He looks up at the mangled hull, open to the sewers, of which he can see only darkness. And that quiet abyss is as cold as hell, pouring down onto him like black oil in a steady, frigid draft.

Don't move, is her next instruction, steel blue eyes intent on his, her face barely illuminated by a flickering light somewhere behind them. She lifts his shirt, delicate fingers pressing onto his chest. Be still, and tell me if I hurt you. _Here_? No. _Here_? He shivers. God, no. It isn't entirely true, but the dull ache in his abdomen is nowhere near what she would consider noteworthy. It's fading, slowly. As he watches Trinity examine him attentively, her beautiful features sharpened by anxiety and focus, he wills himself to overcome it. She isn't to worry, not now. She saved him. It's over.

_Here_? He catches her wrist. I'm okay, Trin. Just look at me. I'm fine.

She falters.

"_Look at me_," he insists. "Please."

Trinity lets out a shaky sigh, squeezing his hand as she peers back up. She softly murmurs a prayer, a thank you under her breath. Then she commands him in the same tiny voice, "Don't ever scare me like that again. Neo, promise me…"

"You said you weren't afraid."

She stares impassively for a long beat, understanding he'd heard everything, processing it. Then faintest suggestion of humor sparkles on the surface of two azure pools. "I lied," she deadpans. "So sorry, dear."

_Dear_. He grins. The angel! He almost laughs with her. "The rest was true, though."

She nods, humming an affirmative, never unlocking their eyes. "Me, too," he whispers. "I got up for you, Trin. That's all I know."

"Alright, then." She seems completely satisfied with this explanation, or more than that, even pleased with it. "So on your feet."

She helps him up, and he finds her ear, holds her close. "Thank you." Hercheek pressed to his neck, he senses her smile. At the same time, he sees the others. And he notices the tentacled machine at Trinity's feet, inches from where she'd been standing guard. Between him and the monster.

_Where are your wings, Angel? Where is your halo?_

"Tank, we're going to need communications," she says at last. "Get me status on the backup generators."

"I'm already on it."

"I need to know if the IC had time to correct for one through five shutdown."

"No, no. We lost it all."

"Then rerun anything left through main bus B. We'll run it all on the good cell."

"But… there's nothing there. They went straight for our batteries. We're dead in the water, Trinity."

"Bullshit. We've got at least five fried squid on our backs. Let's rip them open and scavenge what we can…"

_Did it slip off your head while you were running from an agent, chasing down another soul to snatch from the devil? Or did the sentinels shatter it in a battle like this one, as you scraped and scurried with us mortals, here in the real world? Did they rip and tear at your wings until you fell from the sky? Until you fell from grace, to me? Strong, tiny, relentless Trinity…_

"Neo." Morpheus' baritone voice startles him as the older man rests a hand on his shoulder. "I could use your help with insulating the hull," he says. "That is, if you can take your eyes off my first officer for a moment?"

Neo smiles to himself. Get used to it. But with the greatest effort he complies, giving his mentor the full attention he is owed. They regard each other with mutual esteem, and for the first time, Neo isn't intimidated by him. If anything, he feels as if it may be the other way around. "It won't be easy, sir," he says, extending his hand for a firm shake. "In fact, I'd say that ogling your first officer, is going to be among The One's highest prerogatives."

* * *


	22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN, PT1

_**a/n: After consulting with the crack addicts to this story (wink), I was told that a little bit of drama would not be a bad thing in this more than usually fluffyfiction. So this chapter takes on a more serious tone, while, I hope, staying light in some places. Again, I hope you enjoy it... the next chapter is similar. -Sydney**_

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_**Chapter 18, part 1 of 2  
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199**_

THEY STAND TOGETHER in the cockpit, in a platinum blue light which brings out the startling azure of her eyes, and the faint flush on the apples of her cheeks. He can't help notice it. The slope of her nose, the shape of her lips. Strong brow, stronger chin, dainty cheekbones, and hair the color of a raven's wing. _His_ Trinity. Though he still can't completely believe it. That all this beauty could be for him.

Trinity takes his hands, and without a word, presses them between hers, trying her best to warm them. Neo pulls himself free, reversing the gesture so she is in the middle. She smiles, though it barely registers on her face, and she leans in a little closer.

They are still exploring this quasi-casual familiarity of touch. It's nice, and they take the opportunity to do it whenever they can. A comforting hand on her shoulder, a deliberate brush in the corridor, a kiss when they're sure they are alone. They haven't talked much. But they've touched.

The periodic affirmation of their feelings keeps them grounded and centered. Safe in the moment, safe in the present, they aren't distracted by the near imminence of another sentinel attack, or those five dead soldiers lying in the core.

Touching, it seems, has already become their choice method of survival.

More than anything else, her focus means their survival. While Morpheus and Tank tried to reestablish communications, Neo watched Trinity pick through the mangled electrical systems, like a neurosurgeon meticulously welding axons, rebuilding pathways. Following her orders, he held her flashlight, and brought her tools, raw materials, and mugs of hot water to keep her fingers from freezing. Without breaks, she labored for hours until there was nothing left she could do. Her patient died on the table. They'd just have to wait for rescue, she said, defeated. And hope it doesn't take too long.

And that was the last thing she said, before falling silent and idle, though her company is far from awkward. But he can't tell what she's thinking, whether she's in pain, or if she's worried. He is sure she's exhausted. Thoughtful. Introverted.

But still, they're touching.

She pulls one of her hands out of the sandwich, and places it on top. Neo grins at the wordless argument they are having, and is pleased with the compromise. She circles her four fingertips over his four knuckles, and then lightly pinches each one, making a tactile study of his hand. Neo turns it over so she can explore the palm, wondering if she'll see anything more interesting than the Oracle did.

Trinity traces his lifeline, which is long but discontinuous, broken twice in the middle. And then the heart line, bold and spanning the entire hand, curved upwards. Mystics and fortune tellers associate the latter marking with a playful, romantic disposition, but also warn against pursuing love at all costs. But Neo isn't a palmist, and something tells him that Trinity knows less about chiromancy than he does.

Still, she appears curiously pleased with what she sees.

"Neo, what really happened in there?" she asks into the dark. "After that agent… after we…" She pauses. "You stopped bullets. You destroyed a _sentient_. Explain to me how. I want to understand what happened to you."

The question surprises him. "Actually, I was hoping you'd explain it to me. I think you understand what happened better than I do."

"No, I…" She trails off, interlacing their fingers, and the corner of her mouth twitches upward. "I had _faith_. That's all. Just… _belief _. Or insanity, whatever you want to call it. I knew you'd come back to me, somehow. You had to."

He rests his forehead on hers, rubs noses with her a little, but Trinity pulls back to look into his eyes. "What I don't know is _how_. _How_ did you do it?"

"Trin, the belief _is_ the _how," _he whispers back. "The faith, the insanity_... whatever you want to call it._"

She gazes at him for a moment, then her eyes fall and she slips away to check on the instruments she repaired. "Fine, if that's the way you want it. Don't tell me."

The comment, which may or may not have been a joke, comes out flat and mirthless as she punches at the keyboard. Unsatisfied, he pulls her back against him, takes the blanket from his shoulders and wraps it around hers. "I mean it. I'm serious," he says, rubbing her arms, ostensibly to keep in the heat – but the truth is he needs the contact more than she does. "You kept believing. Against all logic and reason, even though I was shot and it was impossible. You didn't care; you knew I was The One. You knew it _here_…" He presses his hand on her chest, feeling the outline of a plug under her sweater. "That's where I had to know it, too."

Trinity pushes into his hand, and mirrors him, her palm on his heart. "And do you now? Trust yourself… _here_?"

"No." His lips brush her forehead. "That's where I trust you."

Like two magnets, they come together, her curves onto his body, her breath against his cheek. He kisses her temple, then finds her mouth, as the blanket falls around their ankles. She hums, a tiny vibration in the back of her throat, and for a moment they are lost. They couldn't stop, even if they wanted to. They've fallen, they're still falling, and there is no going back.

But even now, as he savors her like an exotic delicacy of the real, Neo knows there is something wrong. Maybe he's intuiting it from her, because Trinity's sorrow runs deep- he knows it must. She won't show him, but she's in mourning. So he hugs her tightly in the stillness, in the empty tin vessel that the ship has become. Over her shoulder, he glances out the windshield, into the sewers. It's quiet, and black. He feels ill, and again, the instinct strikes the middle C of his consciousness, loud and resonant. Something isn't right.

"Don't worry," she says. "Another ship will pick up the distress beacon soon. We'll be okay."

Her voice seems to come from a great distance, like an echo. "The sensors are online?"

Trinity raises an eyebrow, but turns to consult the computer. "Our range has been compromised. I have eyes out to a few hundred meters at best, but it fluctuates in and out."

He frowns, and she squeezes his arm in reassurance. "I've been in worse scrapes than this, Neo."

"Have you?"

"You doubt that?"

"No. I'm just... I guess I'm just curious about you."

She sighs. And swivels the captain's chair, picking up the blanket they'd dropped. Folding the tattered cotton in her lap and taking a seat, she reflects for a moment. "I guess there is a lot you don't know about me, isn't there?"

He sits opposite her, pivoting so they are facing each other. "Just the details, Trin."

A beat passes, and the expression in her eyes tells him she liked his answer. She nods slowly, as if considering this very carefully, and then bends forward, elbows on her knees. "When I was eighteen, I took a tiny scavenger vessel to the outer rim, near the tropics. A week's journey from anything. Nobody else would even consider going."

He mirrors her, pushing himself to the edge of his seat. "You went by yourself?"

"Yes. I was… a bit of a _risk taker_ in my youth."

"Oh, well thank God _that's_ out of your system. The last thing I need is a loose cannon for a girlfriend."

Her jaw drops, and she shoots him a sly look. The _you-have-no-idea _look. Only a few hours ago, she'd jumped from a plummeting helicopter, and wiped out an entire army of guards without breaking a sweat. But then again, hadn't the whole thing been _his_ idea? Neo raises his eyebrows, and his partner in insanity (or whatever you want to call her), grins back knowingly. Choosing to leave it at that- another wordless confrontation- she continues, "There were rumors that the permafrost had cleared, that there was vegetation. A long shot, but the council was offering a fortune for anyone who'd try. Not to mention how much I could make bootlegging whatever I bought back."

"Bootlegging, Trin? I'd never have pegged you for… well, what do they call that in Zion? A dandelion dealer?"

Trinity smirks. "No, the botanical black market isn't my scene. I just needed the money. And I was… restless back then. I'd decided I was too good for the Academy, and so the army had decided it was too good for me. Can you imagine?" She scoffs. "Lock said it to my face. I was willful, arrogant, and a danger to myself and my fellow officers. Problem was, he was right. And the first chance I got, I was flying solo on a suicide mission, thinking I had something to prove. I really _should_ be dead."

"What happened?"

"Something got me. God knows what it was... a machine of some sort, but not like any sentinel I've ever seen. It had these... golden eyes and a body like an insect. Wings that were blue, mauve, violet… all these colors that don't even exist anymore. Not really."

He tries to imagine such a creature. "Sounds beautiful."

She scowls. "Sure, take the machine's side. It hit me with an energy pulse and left me for dead. Two _months_ I survived out there- no power, no radio. And hundreds of tiny metallic bugs, buzzing around, scanning me, driving me mad. By the time my food ran out, so had my sanity. One day, I'll introduce you to my bleach-jug first-officer and sock-puppet-crew."

He chuckles, but the sapphire stare that she pierces him with wipes the smile from his face in an instant. His heart skips a beat. Christ, she can be scary.

"It was a _damn. good. crew_," she says slowly, darkly. "And I was one _hell_ of a captain. And we'll all be together again, soon. Once Morpheus is out of the way."

She could be teasing him, but there is no way to tell. Until she narrows her eyes, winks, and leans back in her chair. _Twisted_ woman. What does she mix into her _Tastee Wheat_ that affects her so inexplicably? Or it's just him. She likes to torture him. With Windex and bundt cake and bottomless riddles that end with _knock, knock, Neo._ His heart flutters again, a chill crawling up his spine. He's cold. What is that? The sound is like a skate slicing over fresh ice. He looks at Trinity's ashen face. She heard it, too.

But then, there is silence. And _tap, tap, tap._ From brain to blood to muscle and nerve, the ancient biochemical pathway coined as the _fight or flight response _drugs his plasma and activates his senses. Epinephrine. Norepinephrine. Acetylcholine. Sweat. Breathlessness. Pounding. He forces himself to whisper, "Trin, what was-"

A thunderous crack drowns out her scream as a jagged bolt travels down the centre of the windshield. It sprouts branches, fissures that radiate out like a tree growing in time-lapse photography. And - Bang! Bang! Bang! - gossamers blossom one by one, blooming like flowers, exploding like fireworks.

"Neo!" A chilling wind blows a hurricane of broken glass as Trinity collides with him and pushes them down, covering his body with hers. Metal bending metal, like the baritone cry of a whale, haunting and deafening, swallows them whole. The first tentacle lands so close it snags his sweater and grazes his skin, and her arms are torn away, her fingers are ripped from his collar. Calling her name, he rolls to avoid the second claw that comes crashing down, scrambling on his hands and knees, pulling frantically to free himself. He has never seen a live one this close before- an arachnidan daemon, a synthetic manifestation of the most terrifying technological evolution. And yet it moves as if it were organic. A glitch? Or a Darwinian advantage? The sentinel cocks its head up, as if distracted, and screeches as if in surprise. Writhes as if in pain, but Neo doesn't see any of it. He is blinded by the sizzling blare, so white it's painful. Raw electricity scorches his skin, numbing and singeing simultaneously like a chemical burn. Trinity must have reached the plasma gun.

"Tank, take the helm!" It's Morpheus' voice. The master alarm buzzes urgently. "Give me anything you've got! Move!"

"Fuel cell one and two, undervolted. She put it all in three. Eighteen hundred. Not enough for the EMP."

"I'm reading five more. ETA, one minute."

"We should bail."

"No. Go, now. Up. Break through a support line."

"It'll give out halfway. We'll fall."

"We'll make it."

"Sir?"

"Tank. _Trust me_."

Neo's skin tingles and his vision is scrambled with a kaleidoscope of color. _Trinity_. Why hasn't he heard her voice? He blinks around, desperate to find her. But as he stumbles to his feet, the ship knocks him against the hull, and it's all he can do to keep from falling over. The sensation is like ascending in an elevator that is moving too fast, and as blood drains from his head, he fights to stay up. Searches frantically.

Moments ago, they were talking. She was just teasing him, sadistically screwing with his mind. _Touching_ him. Now, where?

"Trinity!"

Answer, _please_, answer. She has been in worse scrapes than this.

When the Neb surfaces, a second wave of cold hits him, much more intense and crippling than the first. And through the mangled nose of the ship, Neo sees the sky for the first time. Opaque, aubergine, with lightning netting the clouds together, flickering like a amethyst strobe. It's snowing. But Neo doesn't realize that the swirling flakes are volcanic ash, and the inclement weather is the angry symptom of a nuclear winter. The earth has been frozen like this for centuries, and Zion has been known to exile defectors to this awful place, to die on the surface to which they aspired to return in the form of bioorganic generators. But the fields are many miles to the south. This place is so forbidding, not even the machines will venture here. This place is what even the machines call hell.

* * *


	23. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN, PT2

_**a/n: For elemental. Just... take it. Leave poor Zinck alone.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 18, pt 2**_

HE WON'T REMEMBER the crash. Nothing of the violent jolt and inertia that throws him to the ground, and nothing of Tank's brief cry of shock and agony as thorny vines and jagged teeth pin him to the chair he would die in. Seconds later. Too long. And Morpheus, rising unsteadily from his place at the controls, taking in the carnage and destruction all around, as if not quite aware of where and who he is. He bends over Tank, and covers the younger man's eyes. Tells him it will be alright. Says it again and again, until nobody is listening. But Neo won't remember.

The first thing that stimulates any cognition is her voice. He rises to his feet, and he hears her susurration in the howling wind, a murmur that leads him to her, where she half-sits, half-slumps against the nautical doorjamb. " _Neo? Are you there? I don't think I can move…"_

"No. No, Morpheus… someone. We need help!"

_"I'm alright. Just... help me up." _But she can't see all the blood. She doesn't know. He falls to his knees, into the claret pool that spatters like a trail of dried rose petals. And he is afraid to touch her. He begins to panic.

"Trinity. Trinity… no. God, no." Neo cups her jaw in one hand, and tentatively presses onto her wound with the other, recoiling when she winces. He looks up for Morpheus, devastated when he can't find him. "Trin…" She is clinging to his shirt. " _Sweetie_. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do…"

He can see it in her eyes. _For starters, don't ever call me that again_. But she doesn't realize how serious it is. And as the color drains from her cheeks, the warmth from her tenor, he'll call her whatever the hell he wants. My angel. My everything. My only. The terms of endearment flow like tears.

"Stop. Neo. You're scaring me."

And then Morpheus is there, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, his expression like stone. He isn't calm. But there is such focus, such determination in his eyes, Neo nearly trips over himself to get out of the way. The captain marches with her to the med bay, and Neo has to jog to keep up with his stride. He watches, paralyzed, as Morpheus tears Trinity's sweater down the center, a quick, violent jerk that strikes him as too harsh a motion to expose so delicate a figure. And yet his superior officer is relentless with her body. His large, sinewy hand presses hard under her left breast, over the smooth, crimson tear, and she yells out, hisses.

"_Morpheus_…" She begs his name, and for the first time, Neo hears Trinity's fear. It's foreign and unnatural in his ears, so unlike her habitual tone he wouldn't have recognized it as her voice. She clings to his arm, writhing now, panting. She gasps, and her eyes squeeze shut. " _Morpheus…knock me out. Give me something…"_

"No. Look at me," he says it like an order, holding the back of her head and looking into her eyes. Trinity obeys, lids snapping open to stare back, as if anchoring herself to him. "You need to stay awake or you'll freeze. Do you understand?"

Her breath escapes in condensed puffs. "Mm."

"_Trinity_. What did I tell you?"

"I need to stay awake."

"Good."

She trembles, and her hand reaches out blindly, snatching Neo's from the air. She squeezes, digs her nails into his skin, as Morpheus sterilizes the wound, and begins to stitch the tear in quick, crude sutures.

"Tell me how you made it back."

"What?"

"From the tropics," Neo says, glancing at the half-closed laceration, hoping to distract them both from the gruesome task. "You never finished telling me."

Morpheus tugs the nylon string through her skin. In a shrill, aberrant shriek, she laughs and sobs simultaneously. "Oh, _that_. Damndest thing. One day, the engines just… _zap_, you know?" Her teeth chatter, punctuating the syllables. "Fucking miracle. Nobody back in the city believed me except for John the Baptist here. Who offered me a job, thought I showed great promise. And now… _here I am_."

The captain gives her a wry glance, which she returns as best she can. "Everyone else thought it must've… must've been a mechanical glitch," she gasps. " _Bullshit_. I spent two months dissecting that engine. It was dead."

Neo caresses her hair back from her forehead, her face, wiping away cold sweat. She is fighting hard to stay focused on the conversation, he can tell. "Everyone had given up on me," she says, almost proudly. "When I got back to Zion, my name was engraved on the _Memorial_ _of Lost Souls_. It's still there, in the temple."

"You'll take me to see it?"

She nods, giving him a whisper of a smile. "The bastards had given away my apartment, too," she adds as an afterthought. "And gave all my stuff to the orphans. Can you believe that?"

"I'm sorry."

"It never fails. I get nothing but shit from Zion."

And Morpheus actually chuckles.

* * *

THE TEMPERATURE DIPS below freezing, and Trinity doesn't get any better. She shakes constantly, and no amount of blankets will give her relief from the cold. Still, Neo tries, determined to keep her alive, cocooning her, huddling in a corner, as far as he can get from the breeches in the hull. The air is toxic, and the filthy ice and snow that blizzards into the ship is worse. Perhaps the sentinels know where they are, Neo thinks. Maybe, they left them up here to die slowly. 

He has stripped all the beds, and in a cruelly dehumanizing act he will always regret, he uncovered the crew that lay in the core. But it does no good. She is quickly slipping away, her anemic pallor tuning a scarlet-speckled sliver, as pin-tipped capillaries break around her cheeks, nose and eyes. He holds her on his lap, as one would cradle a child, disobeying Morpheus' edict that she should sit up on her own.

"Neo, please take one of the covers," Trinity whispers, not for the first time. "You're not used to it. You must be so cold..." She grins and tugs at him. "_Sweetie._"

"I'm fine," he lies, tucking his hands under the frozen, threadbare cotton that covers her. He weaves their fingers together. They squeeze, separate, and entwine again. "Can you feel that?"

"No. But… do it anyway."

He smiles, and then he thinks he'll cry. "I can't feel it either."

"God."

"It'll be better once Morpheus gets the fire going." Trinity seems to find this amusing. "What?"

"_Morpheus_. Tell him… I have some manuscripts on fleet protocols he can burn. As my gift to him."

The tips of her eyelashes are white. Tiny crystals in her hair, in the corners of her eyes, sparkle on translucent skin. It is as if she is being transformed into something other than human, something ethereal and supernatural, beautiful and deathly. And that unearthly blue has gotten more intense, as if her life, drained from blood, phlegm and bile, were concentrated entirely in her irides.

"You know, I haven't told you yet," he whispers. "That I love you. That… I've fallen in love with you."

Again, her expression flickers with her wry flavor of mild amusement. "No," she replies hoarsely. "I suppose you haven't. And we mustn't… we shouldn't leave these things to the last minute."

He brushes her cheek, kisses her brow and eyes. "Trinity, I love you."

"I know."

Their lips are icy, tingling without sensation when they begin, but Neo is intent: they will feel this. He'll make them feel it. He has been numb for thirty years, not just the past thirty minutes, and he senses that Trinity knows his pain all too well. People like them can always see it in others. Loneliness, abstinence, self-imposed isolation. He doesn't pretend to know her reasons. _Details_- of very little consequence now that they've found each other. He kisses her until it's warm enough to feel, hot enough to burn, and deep enough to bring back that faint hum of hers, tickling his tongue again. He loses himself in that sound, in that nearly inaudible expression of femininity and passion. Perhaps he is the first one to hear it. But there is no time for details. All they have is now.

So it is now, in a stolen moment in the frigid abyss, that he murmurs into her ear. He tells her she's beautiful. _No. Not just beautiful, Trin. You're devastating_. He tells her that when she moves, he can't take his eyes off her. He tells her that ever since he got here, and for sometime before that, not a night has gone by when he hasn't wondered about her, and thought about them, together. Could she tell? Did it show, that every time he looked at her, he stopped breathing and said a prayer?

_Hm-hum._

He waits for her to elaborate, which she doesn't, except to curl her lip. And he has never felt more adored, more loved by anyone, as he does right then. It's in her eyes, and her voice, when she tells him,

_But when you came into a room… I'd turn and leave. I'd shy away. 'M sorry, Neo. I wasted our time together... I waited too long. _

There aren't many combustible items on the ship. Morpheus has barely an armful of books, clothes, and emergency heatstones when he returns, piling them close to Trinity, gazing at her with something like regret. "You got the regs?" she asks.

"Yes."

They share a grin. "Morpheus."

"Hm."

"Where's Tank?" - she rephrases- "What... what happened to Tank?"

Of course she doesn't know. How could she know? That Morpheus had been unable to separate flesh from steel, and their cheerfully-disposed operator still lies in the cockpit, his body exposed to the frigid, unforgiving elements. Tank was the last of her crewmates, the sixth one. Neo runs his fingers through her frozen hair.

"No," she whispers, still looking to Morpheus, who hasn't answered her question. "What… where is he?"

"He was a good officer. He did his duty, Trinity."

Neo's heart breaks as he looks down at her face. It is as if something snaps, and she just falls apart in his arms. The tears come unbidden- he can tell she tries desperately to suppress them. Physically, it must be agony for her to sob, and worse to hold it in. "No," she repeats. "Not Tank. Not… _Switch_…"

Morpheus looks away, and Neo suspects the captain cannot bear to see her cry, and the truth is neither can he. She looks so utterly demolished, so completely unlike the Trinity he is used to. There is naught but her muffled exclamations of sorrow, as she turns her face into his sweater, clawing her fingers into the mesh. She's weeping, silently, but Neo can feel it, as he holds her head, and rocks. Under any other circumstance, he knows she'd never let him see her like this, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Her friends deserve to be mourned. And so, lying in his arms, Trinity gives them a funeral, their final ablution streaming down two perfect, porcelain cheeks.

* * *


	24. CHAPTER NINETEEN

**_

* * *

_**

* * *

**_Chapter 19  
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199_**

THEY WHISPER TO EACH OTHER as the fire crackles. Morpheus hears the hushed conversation over the flames, over the wind, over his own tattered and dog-eared thoughts. Turn the page. Rub the priceless parchment between senseless fingers. And only skim the paragraphs, summon vague ideas, as a philosophy student would before an exam. Like that student may, he reads over random words, sometimes only syllables of Descartes, Hume, and Reid, purely ceremoniously- he has memorized it all and hasn't the presence of mind to processes any of it. There are swirls of red on the page. His fingerprints. Trinity's blood. And then the books burn with distressing vigor. Curling into smoke, scattering into ash. He must keep Trinity warm.

Dear Trinity. She was the key to everything. He knew it from the beginning. She was the only one who believed. And the only one who was spared. It cannot be a coincidence. Like him, she was saved because of her faith. Only the faithful survive such tests.

He cannot be blamed for it. He tried to shepherd the others. But they doubted him. They questioned it. What more could he have done for them? He begged them to believe.

"One of the many things she didn't tell you, Neo, is that she stole that hovercraft. Though it still eludes the best of us exactly how she did it."

He looks straight into the younger man's eyes and speaks weightily, as if this felony were her greatest accomplishment. And though this is far from the truth - in the past ten years his Trinity has done far more dangerous things, and returned with far more precious bounty - it was an impressive feat, nevertheless. Neo should hear about it. He should know exactly what ilk of warrior he holds so intimately in his arms. Now is the time, Morpheus decides. Neo must be educated to know how fortunate he is to have won the heart of such a woman.

Not that The One is unworthy. No - banish the thought! Certainly, Neo is a great man - he must be a great man. But Morpheus cannot be too careful. He, too, is a great man. And yet Niobe… but Trinity is not Niobe. She is strong enough to do what must be done. She is strong enough to believe. Niobe would have died today with the others. What good fortune that she left before this harsh judgment purged his crew!

"It took security personnel three days to unscramble their software," he continues, eyes drifting down to where Neo's hands are diligently rubbing Trinity's under the covers. "Though I knew instantly who was responsible... just as I knew she would return unscathed. She is far too important to the cause to be lost on such a trivial mission. The machines must not have realized this, you see. If they knew how gifted she really was, the light daemons would have destroyed her. Surely you are familiar with her work on the IRS D-Base…"

"Morpheus."

"Yes, Trinity."

"Cover up. You're too cold."

"This isn't the time to be-"

"You aren't thinking clearly. It's a symptom of hypothermia. Draw closer to the fire."

"You have to trust me, Trinity."

"I trust you. But do this for me. Please."

Quite right. He knows she's right. It must be dementia. Dear Trinity. She is always taking care of him…

Now he is embarrassed. How impertinent to be saying such things now. The IRS D-Base? No, it will not do, not with her within earshot. And so he will have to speak to Neo later, in private. After they are rescued - and they will be rescued, there is no question that their faith will see them through. In fact, he is already several steps ahead. The prophecy requires him to be. Many consider his uncanny ability to focus a symptom of madness. Nonsense. He is always considering the future with wisdom and prudence. Clarity and objectivity. But regarding his Trinity... he cannot be too careful. He must protect her. From all things.

Nobody realizes how fragile she really is.

He will deal with this new development according to Zionist custom. There is no other protocol to follow if the Oracle has nothing to contribute. Naturally, he will consult her first. And barring advice to the contrary, he will take Neo aside and calmly, rationally, lay out the terms of his courting his first officer. For loving his daughter. Morpheus can only assume that she looks to him like a father. Though they have never said it aloud. Never mind. He will let his actions speak for themselves.

The discussion will not be complicated, and it needn't be confrontational. A simple understanding between gentlemen, that's all. Neo will treat her as an equal. His priority must be to keep her safe, especially in the Matrix, even if she tells him not to- which she will. Ignore that- she is independent to a fault. But every other order she gives him is to be obeyed. Unless of course her request interferes with his obligations as The One. But that would be a monumentally complicated matter and can be discussed if it should ever arise. Details, Neo. Most important is to understand that my Trinity is nearly as sacred as the scriptures themselves.

_Most important, Neo, is to understand that she is the only thing left that reminds me that I'm still human._

No need to frighten him - because, surely - Neo is a great man. The One must be a great man.

Morpheus watches her whisper to him again in honeyed tones, a blanket wrapped like a hood over her head. Neo pushes them closer to the flames, and Trinity asks him to draw nearer, "Please, Morpheus. For me. It'll keep us warmer."

It is not the first time she has come to him for help. Yes, now he remembers. It has been floating around for awhile now. That's what almost broke her. That's what sent her out to the edge of the earth all by herself, though she'd never admit that _he_ was the reason. She did it to punish him.

_Will you help us, Morpheus? Please, you're the only one I trust to keep it a secret. _

She was cloaked in Zionist clothing, barely eighteen. And her fingers were entwined tightly with those of her lover, whom Morpheus was shocked to identify as the oldest son of a senior councilman. Daniel Emery (the Third) was a fifth generation purebred, and was quite famously betrothed to a young lady of similar pedigree. Yet he was in love with Trinity. Madly. And she with him. Desperately. Somehow, they'd kept the affair secret for over a year. A _year_. Trinity always knew how to keep a secret. But it wasn't enough for them to steal away in the shadows anymore. Now they were engaged.

_You're a captain- you can perform the ceremony. And take us aboard your ship. The pair of us. Get us away from the city, where he won't have to worry about his family…_

For a moment Morpheus doubted that she'd ever been unplugged at all- because she was dreaming in _Technicolor_. Of course not. Yes, he wanted _her_. Every captain in the fleet wanted Trinity. But this boy? Even if he were allowed to renounce his hereditary seat on the council, which Morpheus couldn't imagine he'd be permitted to do, he wouldn't last a day in the sewers. Not a day, Trinity. It isn't what he was educated to do.

_Then I'll stay here. I'll find work in the city. So long as we're together._

_No, Trin, hold on. _And the young man with dirty blonde hair took her aside. _You can't give up the army. You belong out there. You're so gifted…you said it yourself… they need you. We both know they need you. _

_I need _you. _What about _us_, Daniel? _

They argued, the way that lovers argue. Morpheus remembers it now. How close she came to marrying that young boy. To becoming the wife of a disgraced councilor's exiled son. She'd have children and a home and a disastrous marriage with a man she has next to nothing in common with. Nothing but love – the kind of passion that radiated from them both like moonbeams. How she'd kept this a secret, Morpheus couldn't imagine. But what was even more of a mystery, was how Trinity –rational, strong, intelligent Trinity- could ever have convinced herself it would work.

And that night was the last time he ever saw them together. A short month later Daniel set a date to marry to his other fiancée, and nobody was the wiser of his scandalous romance with a young foundling girl from the sewers. It was the evening before this much celebrated wedding that the young man returned to Morpheus and asked him to deliver a message. That he was doing this for _her_.

_Will you tell her that? She won't see me. She won't take my calls. She listens to you, Morpheus. Tell her to go back to the Academy, join a good crew, like she's always talked about. Trinity can make a difference out there, and I won't be the one to hold her back. I just… I love her too damn much._

The captain agreed to deliver the message, but the next morning, Trinity was nowhere to be found. And neither was that scorpion-class vessel she pilfered from under Lock's nose. Morpheus can only imagine the misery poor Daniel went through; he saw him briefly at the Memorial, and weeks later at her homecoming. The shattered man stood stoically in the back of the crowd with his new wife, who had the air of boredom dipping from her every pore. If Daniel and Trinity even spotted each other, neither gave a single indication of it. But then again, they'd had a lot of practice at hiding their emotions in public.

It may have been the last time Trinity was in love. But Neo has no way of knowing this. He doesn't realize the last time she glowed so iridescently was over a decade ago. So long ago, in fact, that Morpheus had forgotten up until this moment. Until he saw it again, this time sparked by a very different sort of man. Someone like her. Someone who wouldn't hurt her.

Well, not if Morpheus has anything to say about it.

For his sake, The One had better be a great man.

* * *

_**Zion, circa 2188**_

I'M ON MY WAY to a temporary housing project after spending three days at medbay, recovering from malnourishment and… what the hell did the doctors call it? Post traumatic stress syndrome. Shell shock. Isolation sickness. I forget the rest of what's wrong with me. Doesn't matter. I'm walking. That's all I need. All my sock-puppets would agree – sanity is overrated.

I chuckle. Good one, Trin… but now that you're back in civilization, you should stop talking to yourself, or they might add few more disorders to that laundry list. Although, you know what they say. Old habits die hard…

"Trinity."

I recognize the voice, but I don't turn around. I knew he'd find me. I knew it the moment I saw him at the dock; it was written all over his face. _I'll find you_. And in spite of myself, I know my expression screamed back at him. _Yes. Come and find me. _

I continue to march along the catwalk, towards the small, filthy room to which I've been assigned, counting the numbers as I go. He's following me, and I walk faster, but only because I can't stand to wait a moment longer. I jam the key into the lock and rush in, slamming the metal behind us as Daniel takes me by the waist and pushes me against the wall. His mouth is on mine before I've even looked into his eyes. And after nearly ninety days of yearning for any human contact, tears pour down my cheeks as his hands pull at my clothes. I help him, bawling as I do. His tongue burns my skin as soon as I remove the fabric, and I don't think I've ever wanted him more. He's mine. Nothing will change that. He'll always be mine.

I thought of him every night I was out there. Every night. I yell out as we make love, which I never do; but I can't help it. I need to scream. To him. He needs to hear it. He has hurt me beyond words, beyond expression, and yet I have never taken more joy in his body as I do now. Perhaps it is because under it all, I know it is the last time.

Our goodbye doesn't last long – I'm too raw to play games. And I feel dizzy when I eventually fall back on top of him, onto his perfect chest, my hands tangled in thick, curly hair. "Trinity," he says my name the way I love to hear it. "My Trinity."

"Daniel. We… you know shouldn't have done this."

"How could you have left me?" His mouth drags over my sweat-covered brow. "How could you, Trin? On my wedding day. Do you have any idea… I thought I'd lost you."

I take his hand, and examine twin tanzanite wedding bands on his ring finger. "You have lost me," I whisper. "This was your decision. I didn't have a choice."

"I did this for you. So you could have a career. Do you know what my father would have done if we'd been discovered? He'd ruin both of us."

"I suppose I should be grateful."

"I didn't have a choice. I did it for us. Trinity…" He sits up and rests his hands on my shoulders, caresses my hair back from my neck. "I ask you to save some part of us. I love you. I'll always love _you_."

"You love me so much you'd let me be your whore?" I ask softly, and he doesn't answer. "You're a coward, Daniel."

I nearly killed myself over this man. And here we are again. I've had this argument with him one thousand times. I've shouted at him. I've pleaded with him. I've begged and cried and left my very last shred of dignity in his hands. And now it's adultery. I'm not proud of it. I resent him for it. "We shouldn't have done this," I say again. "You need to go home to Claire."

We sit a long time in silence, until he kisses my jaw, earlobe, lips, once more. He tells me once more, he loves me. Forever, Trinity. And once more, I watch him from a stripped mattress as he dresses in expensive clothes. Back to his life, leaving me in the ruins of mine. I'm losing him forever, and yet I can't move, I just watch him go. My eyes sting, my chest heaves, my heart breaks. Prickly fingertips, numbness, and pain. Why can't I breathe?

"Trinity."

I recognize this voice as well. I knew he'd find me. "Neo."

"You need to stay awake. Open your eyes, please." I force my lids open, though they're heavy. I'm drowsy. And warm. Shit. I'm freezing to death. "Trin, can you hear me?"

"Yes. Talk to me. Don't let me drift off."

"Bad dreams?"

"Hm?"

He wipes my cheeks. "Tears."

I haven't dreamed about Daniel in years. I haven't cried over him in much longer. "No. Not bad," I whisper thoughtfully. "Just saying goodbye. To… an old friend."

"You will not fall asleep again, Trinity."

Morpheus has moved closer, and from the corner of my eye, I see him throwing the last bits of kindling into the dying fire. Oh, God. This is it. We have half an hour at best. He sits down next to us, by my head. "You don't need old friends. The One is a great man. He will be an honorable man."

"Morpheus, get under the blankets," Neo says, and he must think our captain is halfway mad. He might be right. But I think Morpheus and I might understand each other better at this moment than we have in the past few months of complete lucidity. How does he always know? Is it my tone, a look on my face? Morpheus can always tell when I'm thinking of Daniel. And he rarely says a word; he just frowns.

"You have all my secrets," I murmur quietly, looking up at him. "You're the only one left who does, you know."

"Good."

"Always keeping an eye out for me."

"There are some things in this world that will never change, Trinity."

"And some things do change."

"Yes. I'm glad for it."

"Me, too." I glance at Neo's trademark bewilderment. "He's cute, hm?"

We laugh together, though we are both short of breath. It's been a long time since I've laughed with Morpheus. His hands cup my cheeks, and then he rests a palm on my forehead. "Good girl," he says softly – and he's the only man who could get away with such a comment and live. Only a parent could get away with that.

"Good girl," he repeats. "You were the only one who believed."

* * *

_**a/n: All reviews are welcome! Feel free to let me know how you liked/didn't like this version of Trinity's romantic past. It's a bit different from many of the others posted on and it's something I've been thinking about for a long time. **_

_**But of course, this is mainly a Morpheus/Trin chapter - I hope you enjoyed the pseudo- father/daughter dynamic.  
Next chapter sees the return of Niobe/Ghost/Sparks/Zion... Rorie... Knight... ah, it's a party!**_

_**-Syd.**_


	25. CHAPTER TWENTY, PT1

_**a/n: This chapter is meant to work with the story told by Neo in The Undiscovered Country, ch. 14 part 2. The Morpheus and Trinity "Q'nA."**_

**_I hope you enjoy it - including my biochemical rant (you'll know it when you see it), and the second half of this chapter, which I give to Morpheus and Niobe. Part two will follow paying homage to Trinity and Ghost, and then... I have a treat so sickeningly sweet it is guarenteed to rot your teeth and induce diabetic coma (involving Rorie, Knight, and two pairs of sunglasses). Enjoy, and thanks always to those kind enough to review!_**

**_Sydney. _**_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 20, (part 1 of 2)  
The Surface. In what was formerly Sweden, near the Baltic Sea. circa 2199**_

* * *

NEO DOESN'T KNOW the person who tries to take Trinity from his arms, nor can he see him clearly. Sound and motion are out of synchrony, and images skip in his mind's eye, like a damaged film stuttering ahead, jumping backwards, scrambling frames. His thoughts tell him to release her, but his body won't comply; the message is lost somewhere between idea and execution, as it is sometimes in nightmares. 

Like an ice sculpture of two lovers, they are locked in a cold embrace, faces nuzzled as if taking a brief détente between kisses. Is she alive? Neo holds his breath and listens. Nothing. The white squall drowns out her rhythm. If any. _If any. _

Something in him snaps. He can't let them take her. Trinity has many enemies. How can he be sure where these strangers' loyalties lie? Or worse. They will confirm that there is indeed nobody to take, because he holds a corpse, and not Trinity at all. "Leave us. Go away," he grumbles, pulling her closer. "Get away. She's mine."

Their flashlights blind him. Their animated chattering bothers him. All this motion and noise, sometimes too loud to bear, is like vinegar on razor-sliced tissue. His nerves have been eroded by the winds full of sand and ice and poison. Only Trinity is soft enough to touch.

Neo rocks with her, blocking out all other stimuli. He drifts on eddies of recollection, tying his fragile consciousness to the sound of baritone and alto humming a fragmented melody. Morpheus was just talking to her, his tone like chocolate, hers like warm milk. They were playing a game. Passing the time, just as if these weren't their final breaths, but something much more ordinary.

The memory feels like sanity. It is because the air between the captain and his first officer is a sanctuary, though Neo never realized it before. Before, he doubted they even liked each other, these two stoic, iron-willed soldiers. They spat at each other. Barked orders over the helm, and avoided sharing company in the mess hall. But he was wrong about them. Their crossfire pops and sparkles like birch bark in a campfire, combustible, tense, acrid and somehow warm. Neo has never had a family. And he didn't know he had gained one until the three of them huddled into a triangle, slowly dying together.

_Three questions. Only three, Trinity. So choose wisely, _Morpheus told her. She was still awake, but barely._ Please, Morpheus… just… let me be._

_Nevermind. Any three questions_, _without limits or boundaries._

_You'll lie,_ she countered. _Of course I won't lie. Oh, yes you will._ Like children, they volleyed their monosyllabic arguments back and forth – yes, no, yes - until abruptly, she replied with, _How old are you?_

_Choose a number, Trinity, any number between one and one hundred. _

_I knew it. I'd rather freeze to death than play your sick mind games. _

_Do you have the number?_

_Yes._

_Add twenty eight… alright?_

_What are you waiting for? I'm faster than this… _

_Now multiply by six. And subtract three. Divide by three. And then-_

_And then subtract the original number plus three. Add eight. Subtract the original number less one, multiply by seven. I haven't forgotten._

_Good. That is a good sign. _

_But what does the inevitable result of four hundred and twenty seven have to do with anything? _

_You are still alive. _

_... hm. Touché. _

_Next question. _

_But you didn't answer my first one._

_Two remaining. Without any limits or boundaries. But only two, Trinity. So choose wisely. _

Neo presses his mouth down onto frozen hair, and another's fingers, not Trinity's fingers, brush his cheek. A woman's voice transcends his blockade, and her white beam flickers off. She tells him it's okay. She tells him he has to let Trinity go. No, we won't hurt her. We're here to help. No, she isn't; she's still alive. I can feel a pulse. But you need to give her to me, now. Can you do that? Do you even understand what I'm saying?

"The boy's delirious, Niobe."

"Who is he?"

"Who? _What_ is he? Looks newborn. But he's too old…. might've gone nuts when they pulled him out, d'you think?"

"Nevermind. We have to separate them."

"I don't know. He's got quite a grip on your girl, there, Ghost."

"Get the stretcher."

This rouses him again, though Neo realizes, quite painfully, that he is not in control of his actions. It's the cold, which like a drug, is affecting him on the molecular level. Thermoreceptors, the tiny proteinaceous sentinels of mammalian core temperature, sensed the initial chill, and induced shivering and tightening of blood vessels. Produced heat. Maintained his blood pressure. But he is hours past this defense mechanism. He isn't shivering anymore, because his delicate biochemistry cannot operate for long when the enzymes are being frozen out of shape. The human body is a persnickety thing. A few degrees, that's the extent of the window. Anything else is Nature's failed chemistry experiment. No reaction. Cause and effect, a broken link in the metabolic chain. Everything slows down: heart, lungs, kidney. The brain suffocates, slowly, firing off electrical impulses that are discontinuous with sensory input. _The boy is delirious, Niobe._ He can hear it all and respond to none of it. It is enough to drive one mad.

Neo heard it happen to Trinity. It began with slurs. Malapropisms. Various small, neurological mistakes. She heard them, too. The sickening sound of her mind giving up.

_What was your name? In the Matrix? That's my second question._

_No man alive knows my name, Trinity. _

_No doubt. Four hundred and twenty…what the hell was- _

_Twenty seven. _

_Yes. Two hundred and forty seven years is a long time. _

_I never told Niobe._

_I wouldn't tell her, either. _

_No. But you will laugh. _

_Let me laugh. Cummon. I prolly won't rhumemblur any… ammie… -Jesus Christ Almighty-… anyway. _

Morpheus frowned, expression soft and sad as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. Trinity's eyes brightened, and she laughed. Winced as she laughed. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. _No._ She chuckled. _Oh, f… fuck, no. _

_Yes. It goes to your grave, Trinity. A very long time from now. _

She kept shaking and crying with laughter.

_That will do, Trinity. _

_And Niobe really doesn't know? _

_Next question. _

_Can I… please, can I tell her that she knows what I don't know that I won't remember?_

_No limits. No boundaries. But you have only one left, Trinity. So make it a good one. _

The Trinity of the past and the Trinity of the present meld in a confusing scrambling of dialogue and image. Neo hears her speak as they are torn apart, as her inanimate body is carried ahead of his and laid on an adjacent table. He turns his head, watching the same person from earlier takes her hand and leans over her face. He brushes the back of his hand over her cheek. Folds a blanket over her face. _No_. Trinity, no.

"It's just to get her warm. She's alright."

"Take it off her face… please, take it off."

"Most body heat escapes though the head. It'll heat her up faster." The woman who'd spoken to him so softly earlier covers his body in a stack of covers and takes an IV bag from a basin of steaming water. "Try to relax. You're not doing too well yourself."

"Who are you?" He asks, struggling for articulacy. "Who is _he_?"

The man who still holds Trinity's hand looks up from her only briefly before turning the dainty arm over to administer an intravenous line and attach a bag of warmed fluids.

"My name is Niobe. You're aboard my ship. This is Ghost, my first officer. The man who brought Morpheus in is Sparks."

"Morpheus is alright?"

"He will be." Niobe slides a needle into the first plug on his forearm, and he cringes at the sensation. "You haven't been out for very long," she observes. "So what's your name?"

"…Neo."

"Neo," she pulls the threadbare fabric up to his chin. "Can you tell me what happened? To the rest of the crew?"

He shakes his head. "Cypher."

"What about him?"

"Niobe." A voice calls her tersely from the entrance of the medbay. "I took a look at their vitals, and the broadcast logs from the past six hours. Shit, you… you just gotta see this."

* * *

THE CAPTAIN OF THE LOGOS has transferred the data to her ready room. And as is her wont on quiet Sunday afternoons, she sits with a cup of infused tea and studies strings of green code, looking for anomalies. Glitches. Indications of concentrated agent activity. And, of course, there is Morpheus, though she'd never admit it to anyone. That she'd never stopped watching him. And Trinity, who has begun to do most of his footwork. Over the years, she has gotten very good. But Niobe has never, ever seen anything like this. 

The man she'd found wrapped around Trinity in iron-cast devotion is now a greater mystery to her than when they found him. He fights like a rebel. Moves like an _agent_. Looks like he might be in his thirties. _Impossible_. And yet he is lying in her medbay, somehow alive after being shot eleven times by a sadistic sentient who continued to pump his chest full of metal, even after he'd collapsed to the ground. "Jesus Christ, Morpheus. What have you done?"

He has lost his crew. Six of them – an unimaginable number for any captain to survive. It strikes her deep, far deeper than professional empathy should. It has been almost five years. Long enough for the bitterness and resentment to fade, for her anger to quell and now all that lingers is the ghost of their once nearly combustible connection. It's like an emotional tether. She may not love him anymore. She may never again. But still, his pain is her pain. She doesn't know how to stop.

Niobe leans back in her chair and lets out a sigh, commanding the computer to replay the audio component of the Neb's core monitor from time index nine-two-four. She closes her eyes and listens.

_You know, for a long time… I thought I was in love with you. I used to dream about you. You're a beautiful woman, Trinity. Too bad things had to turn out this way. _

_You killed them. _

The conversation gives her gooseflesh. She told Trinity not to unplug that one. And she told Morpheus not to keep him aboard. But what did it matter? When has her opinion ever mattered? The Neb belonged to Morpheus and Trinity long before she ever left. There was even a short time when she suspected they were falling in love. That was the final accusation. That's what ended it for good. Morpheus couldn't even look her in the eye after that. "Trinity has a great deal of respect for my relationship with you, Niobe. It is one of the uncountable differences between her, and Jason Lock."

_Don't hate me, Trinity. I'm just a messenger, and right now I'm gonna prove it to you. If Morpheus was right, then there's no way I can pull this plug. I mean, if Neo's The One, then there'd have to be some sort of a miracle to stop me. I mean, how can he be The One if he's dead? You never did answer me before, if you bought into Morpheus' bullshit. Come on, all I want is a little yes or a no. … Look into his eyes, those big, pretty eyes. And tell me: yes, or no? _

For the third time that afternoon, Niobe listens closely to the barely audible response …_yes_. Yes. And she really thought she knew Trinity better. It just… it doesn't make sense.

An impertinent knock at her door prompts Niobe to end the recording. She turns her computers off and runs a hand over her hair. She knows this knock. "Yes, come in."

He looks like hell. Though, for a man who spent a few hours at the mercy of three agents, Niobe respects him for even being able to stand. Suppressing another pang in the pit of her stomach, she rises and meets him in the center of the room. "It's good to see you up."

"Niobe."

Morpheus extends his hand. Is it ridiculous that, under the circumstances, she was expecting a hug? Or maybe it's just her- when she found him, there was a devastating moment when she was certain they were too late. Niobe brushes it off and returns the gesture in a firm shake. "Sparks took a look at the Neb, and he thinks the pads will get her home. The charge will take a few more hours."

He gazes at her for half a beat, and she catches something there, a hidden glint of something. But she must be imagining it. "Thank you, for all you've done," he says, pronouncing the words with an intonation of majesty, as an overly-dramatic actor might on the stage. "I'm very much obliged to you and your crew."

"I've reviewed your broadcast logs. The bodies are in the Logos' cargo hold. I'm… sorry, Morpheus. If there's anything I can do-"

"Their loss was a necessary sacrifice. If you've watched the logs then you know already." He takes a step closer. "I've found him, Niobe. You've seen it."

Her mouth opens, and closes again. Is that an _I told you so_? Or it's a justification. It's what he's been telling himself since it happened. They died so Neo could live. But usually, when he speaks of The One with such conviction, he is able to look her in the eye. No, she recognizes his doubt when she sees it- a momentary blip in his voice, a fleeting error in his posture, an anomaly in his composure he would never admit. And still, there is a sparkle of something else- it hasn't left him.

"Cypher is the one who killed them," Niobe says carefully. "You couldn't have known. This isn't your fault-"

"It is why I was chosen. I am prepared to do what needs to be done."

"Morpheus, if Neo is The One. _Especially_ if he is The One, then all the more reason to honor the loss. Let yourself mourn them. They were a damn fine crew. "

She cannot tell if she has penetrated him, or if perhaps he resents her for even presuming to try. It isn't her place anymore, and it isn't as if she was ever good at handling him, even at the best of times. But she is worried about him. He didn't even have any blankets on him when the Logos docked with the Neb. It appeared as if, in the final moments, he'd piled them all onto Trinity and the man he believes, however misguidedly, will end the war.

"Then you have come to see the truth." Morpheus takes a second step towards her, bringing them so close she can feel his body heat. "You believe, Niobe?" he asks her softly. "Tell me… you must believe. Tell me my wait is over."

And now Niobe understands him completely, though she is shocked to be faced with the proposition. He wants her back. He thinks he has won her back. That once she has seen the light and realized the error of her ways, she will apologize and return to him, his loyal disciple at long last. But how ridiculous! How narcissistic! How… Jesus, Morpheus. For a split moment as he waits for her answer, his eyes are unguarded- warm, intense, yearning. Vulnerable. But it lasts for only that flicker of time, because he has already measured her response. She looks away. "I'm sorry," she whispers to the floor. "Even if I did believe you, do you really think it would be that easy? I can't just forget-"

"It has _not_ been easy. Not for those of us making the sacrifices."

"How dare you-"

"I dare every day, Niobe." Rejected, he turns away abruptly. And with three huge, swift paces, he wrenches the door open with a force that betrays his low purr. "I _dare_ more than you could imagine," he says over his shoulder. "And all I ask in return is your confidence. I will have it. When this is all over, know that I will still be waiting. I will never stop waiting for you."

* * *


	26. CHAPTER TWENTY, PT2

**_The Last Exile  
Chapter Twenty, Part 2 of 2_**

_**1010101**_

**Logos_, circa 2199_**

GHOST HASN'T SEEN HER in months. He hasn't spoken to her in longer. And now here she is, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the center of his life again. All it took was a moment. All it took was her voice, unmistakable in the emergency broadcast over the radio - _This the Nebuchadnezzar, requesting immediate assistance from any ship in range. I repeat, we need help, bearing one-oh mark three one. Two-way contact is down. Sensors down. EMP down. Six pads_…(a barely audible sigh)…_ down. _

Trinity is resting now, her condition finally stable, so he moved her to a spare cabin – tucked her into bed. Purple pintips of frostbite speckle her cheekbones, and there was a time early in the afternoon when she drifted in and out of sleep, shivering uncontrollably. She asked for Neo then, who was already up and had been forced from her side to help revive the Neb. But Niobe was only too glad to get rid of him.

The _space cadet_, is her kind-hearted nickname for the man who deleted an agent and saved Morpheus' life – and has set them back at least few hours with his mechanical incompetence. Though it must cost Niobe to admit it, they need Trinity back, as much because of her engineering prowess as for the sake of her _babysitting services_. "I don't care what Morpheus says," whispered the captain as Neo held up a sheet of upside-down schematics and studied them intensely. "This guy is going to drive her nuts."

But she didn't see the look on Trinity's face when he rushed into the med bay, covered with grease and scrapes and a few burns from his demotion to Niobe's coffee boy. She smiled though chattering teeth, and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. "You don't look so good," she observed weakly. "What the hell happened to you, Neo? … Bad day?"

And he laughed, which made her laugh. Their intimacy was effortless as he held her close, flowing into a kiss before Ghost had even a moment to take a breath. _No._ He wasn't prepared for it. He wasn't expecting it. He'd never seen her kiss another man before. She doesn't kiss in public. She doesn't smile like that. She doesn't… - and Ghost felt a rip down the center of his chest as he watched their fingers entwine – she didn't even realize he was still in the room.

Nor does she know it now, as he sits at attention in the gloomy corner of her cabin, gargoyle-like and placid. He shouldn't be here; he isn't helping. He doesn't even know what he is waiting for. If she wakes up, he doesn't know what he'd say. But by the time the full futility of his presence dawns on him, he finds himself unable to leave. Someone is standing at the door.

Neo seems to be debating about weather or not to step in, and it is clear that he hasn't noticed the other man's quiet presence. Ghost considers that he should make himself known, but for him to rise now and hurry away would seem to indicate he has been caught at something sinister or unwholesome. He feels no guilt, and shall display none. So he waits patiently, taking the opportunity to watch, study… evaluate. This is a careful person, a shy person as he takes a few timid steps forward, checking the corridor behind him. Perhaps he was sent by Niobe on another trivial errand designed to keep him from afflicting more important things, and he doesn't realize that the longer he is away, the more pleased she will be. Or perhaps, Ghost muses (much more charitably), Neo has been missing his only friend, and would simply prefer some privacy. He is tired of everyone looking at him and wondering about his relationship with the Neb's first mate. He feels lost without her, and only wants some reassurance, some counsel, some company. But she's sleeping, and now he isn't sure what to do – he's disappointed, but considers the next best thing, to just sit in the room for a few stolen minutes, though he isn't sure if it would be appropriate.

There is something tranquil and concentrated in Neo's manner that reminds Ghost of Trinity. He has noticed it all day. Save the numerous questions he had about the power-up, Neo didn't talk much – and it isn't as if Sparks didn't try to engage him in conversation, mostly about the "utter insanity of that bullet-stopping shit. What the hell did _you_ add to _your_ goop this morning?"

Neo answered without looking up from his task, "A spoon." Then, he seemed to give it more thought, which brought a strange sort of grin to his face. It stayed there for some time, and Ghost was certain he was thinking of Trinity– Neo has the same smile on his face now, keeping his eyes invariably on her. It flickers away at the echoing sound of voices, Niobe's and Sparks' speaking tersely a few rooms over, which prompts him to slip inside and close the door behind him. So he _is_ hiding. And now, the room is completely black.

Seconds of dark and quiet saunter by, and Ghost realizes that the correct time for him to make his presence known has come and gone. To speak now would be… creepy. He suppresses a sigh, shaking his head as he hears Neo's feet drag in baby steps across the floor. What is he _doing_? Ghost wills him to stay put, dreading the possible outcome of being groped in the dark by Trinity's lover. _Go away. Go away. Stay over there… _Is he looking for a lamp? Is he climbing into bed with her?

A sudden clatter – metal on metal loudly crashing to the floor – rings out as Neo curses. Ghost catches his breath, listening with disdain as footsteps stumble around, thumping back to the door. Rusty hinges scream cruelly as he yanks, letting sterile whiteness from the hallway into the cabin. The three of them strain against the sudden glare.

Trinity is sitting up in confusion, her cropped hair tousled, blankets thrown off in a frenzy. She blinks from one man to the other, placing herself, scowling as the situation comes into focus. Neo looks no less than mortified, his mouth hanging open as he stares in disbelief at Ghost, who has leapt to his feet - wishing he had the supernatural powers of his namesake, so that he could waft unseen through the wall.

"What's going on?" Trinity asks the obvious question with a hint of irritation – from what Ghost can tell – directed at them both.

"I was…" Neo manages, visibly upset, though it is unclear if it's embarrassment, shock, or anger which is clouding his thoughts. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. Everything's fine. I was just… _I _was checking on you."

"Well, I…" She seems at a loss. "I'm… _okay_, I guess."

Neo nods gravely. "Well… okay. Good."

"And you?" she returns the question abruptly. "The _two_ of you," she specifies. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"Fine." Ghost echoes, nearly suicidal. If Neo weren't blocking his way, he'd run.

"Great," she says, forcing a smile that fades as soon as the syllables out of her mouth. As an afterthought, she brings the covers over her chest and crosses her arms tightly.

"You cold?" Neo ventures.

"What? No, I'm fine."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"Because I can get you more-"

"I'm fine."

"Oh. Kay."

"Thank you, though. For… offering."

"Oh, no it's no… I have too many, anyhow."

"How are the repairs going?" She addresses this question to nobody in particular, though the only one qualified to answer it is Ghost. It is her way of bringing him into the conversation, a subtle social maneuver which Neo misses completely.

"Oh, it's going good," he says with exaggerated nonchalance. "Uhm… there was some sort of… glitch in the… with the uhm… you know… the coil things… what're they called. Damn it… it doesn't really matter. We can fix it…" He trails off and then adds, "Well, _they_ can fix it."

Ghost catches Trinity's lip twitch. "Thank you, Neo. That's very reassuring to hear."

"Positronic polarity was out of phase by half a cycle," Ghost translates, finding welcome neutrality in shop-talk. "It's hard to correct with so many of your pads down."

"Balance the delta-_psi_ by deactivating the damaged coils. She'll fly fine without them."

"We're going to try that, once she's fully changed. If it works, we'll be in Zion by tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh? Good. Very good. That's… damn good time."

"Yes." Their eyes lock, and the full awkwardness of the situation seems to hit them both at once. It has been much too long since they've spoken. "It is. Very good time."

"You'll tell me if you need anything."

"It's all under control."

This seems to disappoint her. "Right. Thanks, Ghost."

He takes this chance to excuse himself, leaving her a progress report to survey at her leisure – a professional courtesy that was Niobe's idea. Eager for the refuge of the corridor, he brushes past Neo with a polite nod – which isn't returned, though there seems less hostility in his attitude than tired relief.

As he walks towards the core and hears the door being closed behind him, he forces himself not to look back. He doesn't want to think about it. He has come so far not to think about it.

**_1010101_**

Trinity stares up into the darkness, acutely aware that she is not in her own cabin. She'd prefer to sleep on the Neb, but of course it's freezing over there, and she's still prone to bouts of shivering. She is cold right now, even with the extra blankets that Neo carried over, having ignored her curt but polite decline. But, of course, it had nothing to do with the blankets.

They kissed for some time. The privacy of a (locked) bedroom was new, and seemed to inspire slower, deeper loving. Wet, smooth lips slid on skin, pressed against tongue, and skirted over teeth. He touched her breast, just the side, and a little underneath, tracing the outline with his first two fingers, trailing with his thumb. He didn't dare go any furthur, which both frustrated and goaded her into biting him, not quite gently, on the lower lip. The climax of their tryst. He grunted, kissed back hard and broke it abruptly. "I'll be thinking of you." He grinned against her cheek and added, "In my dreams, I make love to you all day long."

Her jaw dropped in shock, and before she could think of an appropriate response (even now, all she can think of is, _me too_), he pushed himself up and strode through the blackness to his cabin. She heard him move in the adjacent room. Walking. Pacing a little. Sitting. Pacing some more. Then, the running and splashing of water. Cold water? She smiled, and pressed her palm to the wall. _Me, too._

But now he is quiet, apparently sleeping, or sitting awake, thinking of her as he promised he would. The possibility thrills her, tightens her, prevents her muscles from fully relaxing against the mattress. She closes her eyes, and toys with the impulse before giving into it, tentatively, flirtatiously caressing her fingers over the places Neo had left wanting, untouched. She circles, teases, imagining it's him, and wonders if he might be doing something similar at that very moment, lying in his bed, imagining it's her. She wonders if it would be the first time.

How had it come about so intensely, this advanced stage of fetishizing over the love object? Trinity knows herself; her imagination is boundless, and she has been holding back for weeks. She held back after catching Neo's scent on his clothing and between his sheets as she made his bed. After sitting next to him in the mess hall, feeling his body heat resonate onto her bare arm. After watching him sleep. But she wouldn't give in to this kind of fantasy, not this far, not so deep. She has been this deep before, only once, and it brought her to near ruin. She is capable of obsession. She is capable of reckless, blind, unconditional love, and it frightens her. Ten years have passed since Daniel, and now she realizes it is still part of her nature, still a weakness - the space that he left is still hungry, and very much alive.

At the tip of ecstasy, her toes curl, her stomach sinks, and the backs of her eyes sting. Seemingly without conscious will, she catches herself, stopping at the most awkward moment. The orgasm, which had barely begun, is ruined. She can go no further. "_Shit._"

She doesn't know why she's crying. Perhaps she has too many reasons, all tangled together, like mangled metal… like clothes-hangers, bicycle frames, and chicken-wire strewn across her thoughts. She eases herself up, joints sore, her small but deep wound tender to movement. The air is cool on her damp skin, and she fights off a wave of dizziness before she rises. Trinity doesn't hesitate before walking the length of the alien cabin, tugging the door ajar, and slipping into the corridor, her footsteps silent in socked feet. When she arrives at his door her heart skips a beat and her eyes are still bleary with a mixture of sleep and passion. She rubs them, but reasons that it's dark; he won't see how terrible she looks. And so, with an exhausted exhale, and a sudden rush of uncertainty, she knocks and calls his name.

"Ghost?" She barley cracks the door open widely enough to squeeze the sound through. "…are you awake?"

There is silence, and for a moment, Trinity assumes that he is either asleep, or ignoring her. She turns away.

"I'm here." His eyes are barely visible in the light as he sits up. "You shouldn't be awake."

"I'm fine. I'm… tired of lying down. Can I come in?"

Again, she senses hesitation. "Of course."

"If you're tired-"

"Come in."

Satisfied, she slips past the door, hardly moving it, and drifts through the cool black sea of his room until she arrives at the foot of his bed. She sits to face him, drawing her legs up to her chest. Like so many times before, years ago. "Hey."

"Hey," he echoes, wishing he could see her face. But if he turns on the light it will ruin the strange intimacy she's initiated. He didn't ask for it. He won't destroy it. He waits.

"I'm sorry about before. You caught me off-guard. I didn't know what to say with Neo there."

"You don't have to say anything."

"No, I do." She reaches out and carefully touches his arm. He must react, though he doesn't intend to, and she pulls away instantly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this."

"No, stay. You just… you caught me off-guard."

"We've been like this for so long… I just wish… I _wish_. Because it could have been one of us, Ghost. He could have killed me as quickly as he killed the others. Or it could have been you. Do you understand me?"

They'd never actually fought; there was no climactic moment punctuating the end of their closeness. He'd just left. When Niobe finally took command of her own vessel, he saw the opportunity for escape and he took it; his visit to the Oracle confirmed that his decision was the correct one. He bore no ill-will, only pain he needed to let dissolve over time, on another ship with a familiar captain. It was Trinity who was angry. Betrayed, she'd said. She stood by him when it mattered. Why would he leave her now, alone with Morpheus, who was systemically alienating himself from everyone? They were a team. Even then, she considered him her only real friend. But you'll make new ones, he'd said. You'll be alright. You got a promotion. So did I.

And over time (and probably with some difficulty), she did make new friends, all of whom are lying frozen in the _Logos'_ cargo hold. "I'm sorry," Ghost whispers, and he realizes that it is the first time he has said it to her. Even after he left, he never actually apologized. The old debate of whether or not she was owed one is irrelevant, when there is so much more to be sorry about now. "I'm so sorry, Trinity."

There is no climactic reunion to mark the transition. They talk softly for a long time, during which Trinity provides the details of that miraculous day. She tells him about Cypher, and how she'd gone back with Neo to rescue Morpheus, and that it was his idea to go back; all of it was Neo's idea. She tells the story in poignant fragments, perhaps needing to hear herself say it – _Switch just looked at me… there was nothing I could do _- she needs someone to listen. Though he isn't sure, Ghost suspects at several pauses that she is wiping tears, but she keeps her distance in the dark. He comments when it's necessary, then tells her how he heard her distress signal while monitoring the low-bands, and how they searched for hours before finding the Neb. They discuss some of the procedures for correcting the out-of-phase plasma flow.

"And Neo?" she asks vaguely. When he doesn't answer, she lightens her tone, "You're not letting him near my ship, are you?"

He chuckles tactfully. "Niobe is whipping him into shape."

"Oh, no." It is her turn to pretend to laugh. "I was hoping you'd look out for him. Actually, you're one of the people I hope he has a chance to get to know. You'd like him…"

There is a drifting, open-endedness to this statement that turns it into a question. She wants to know what he thinks of Neo. She'd done the same thing a decade ago with a man Ghost truly detested for myriad reasons, not all of them self-serving. He replied honestly that he didn't know Daniel well enough to judge. The same neutral reply would do well here.

"I like him," Ghost answers right away. Rather than sorrow or loss or bitterness, he feels a strange freedom come with giving his blessing. The truth is, he does like the man who loves her so openly and unapologetically. He likes the man who looks at her as if she were the world, and doesn't give an damn who sees it. "But why do you ask?"

"I didn't ask."

"Oh?"

"I don't know. I'm just… I'm tried, that's all." She sighs and leans back against the wall. A breathy, incredulous laugh escapes when she speaks. "I don't even know what happened, really. All of a sudden… I guess I'm a little gun-shy. It's been _awhile_."

"Gun-shy?"

"Figure of speech."

"I like him, Trinity." The slight emphasis on the second word seems to give her whatever it is she is looking for. She lets the statement hang, as if expecting him to elaborate, which he doesn't.

"You know, the Oracle told me this would happen," she says. "She told me, that the man I loved would be The One."

"You believe in the Prophecy, then?"

Her answer is quick and elusive. "I believe in Neo."

"It is difficult not to, after what he has already done. But here, he seems… unsure."

"It'll come. He needs time to find his place. Losing the crew has been hard on him, I think."

"I'm sure it's been harder on you."

Trinity has no answer to this, except to pull a blanket up over her legs and shift closer to him. She rests her head on his shoulder. He covers it with his hand. "While we were on the surface, Morpheus and I were playing a game," she told him. "I was to ask three questions, and he'd have to answer. You now what my last one was?"

"No."

"I asked him about the night we were unplugged. Why he took two of us on the same night… why he'd take such an unnecessary risk. It has never made much sense, has it Ghost?"

He lets out a sigh. "And what did he tell you?"

"He told me the truth. He told me everything." Ghost can't tell from the tone of her voice whether or not she is upset. But then he feels her smile against his shoulder. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Would you have really wanted to know?"

"That my best friend lied to me, went behind my back, and then bluepilled Morpheus? You fucking _bluepilled_ Morpheus? You son of a bitch! All this time, you let me believe that I was the _cool_ sibling."

"I did it for you."

"I know. I owe you my life- I owe you everything, it seems."

"You don't owe me anything. We were a team."

"We were. We were a damn good team."

"Morpheus was wrong to tell you."

"Don't be upset with him, he was suffering from acute hypothermia. He was so delusional, he even told me his pseudonym. Now he can't even look me in the eye. I almost wish I didn't know."

"Care to unburden yourself, Trinity?"

"Oh, you know… I'm really not _supposed_ to. Now that it seems I'm the _good_ one."

"Curse my negative influence."

"It's terrible, how you drag these things out of me. I feel so _manipulated_." She leans over to whisper in his ear. Her breath tickles, and he can't resist the simple joy of putting his arm around her shoulders, as she explains how the fleet captain's mother was one of many Southern fanatics of the 1939 film _Gone With the Wind_, so much so she named her son after one of the handsome male protagonists.

"Rhett?" he asks her incredulously, and she shakes her head and bites her lip.

"No. The _other_ one."

His jaw drops, and she nods. Yes. That's right. He needs to hear her say it, to confirm it. She rises from the bed and laughs, and suddenly they are back on the Neb, ten years earlier. He lets himself laugh with her. "_Ashley_!" he finally blurts out.

"Shhh!" she giggles. "You'll get us both in trouble."

"Come back here." Ghost stands and reaches out to her, pulling Trinity in to hug her carefully. Ever eager to show how tough she is, she pulls him close, squeezing as tightly as she can, mindless of the stitches.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she says. "I love you, Ghost."

He plants a kiss in her hair, and holds her for as long as he dares. "Be good to him," he whispers. "Even though he doesn't deserve you."

"Of course not," she chuckles, and nods as if in complete agreement, but he can tell it's an act. She considers herself lucky, and the truth is he hopes she is right- he hopes she is lucky.

In fact, once she leaves him in the stillness of his cabin, Ghost finds that it is the only thing that could possibly give him comfort. To know that Neo loves her as much as he does.

_**1010101**_

_a/n: This is an update that took awhile to post, I'm sorry about that... the next few chapters will be posted quickly. I took some chances in this chapter - first, by revealing my theory for poor Morpheus' digital pseudonym (I originally was going to let you all fill in the blank for yourselves, but I couldn't resist throwing my own two cents out there!). Secondly, by hinting at the Ghost/Trinity background story that I am working on - concerning the story of their twin brith. It won't be dealt with right away, but when it is, the end of this chapter will make more sense. I guess it's a bit of a teaser. Ghost the bluepill... _

_Reviews welcome! - Syd_


	27. CHAPTER TWENTYONE

_**a/n: Chapter 20 was dinner. This is dessert. **_

_**1010101**_

_**The Last Exile  
Chapter 21: Guys and Dolls.**_

_**Zion. Chapter 2219**_

**_1010101_**

"Mom? Dad?" Rorie calls out to her parents as she and Knight walk into her living room. When she receives no answer, a broad smile spreads across her face. "Okay, we're alone."

Knight rests a few packages on the ground and looks through bags until he finds one from the museum's gift shop. "These are so cool," he gushes, pulling out two pairs of sunglasses and handing Rorie the smaller of the two. "Put them on."

Rorie slides the large ovals onto her nose, and Knight does the same with his _limited edition shades of The One_ (or so the tag reads).

"_Whoa_," he gasps, in his best Neo impression. Rorie smiles.

"No, no," Knight corrects. "You're _Trinity_. When Trin is in the Matrix, she doesn't smile. You're lucky if she even talks to you. Try again. Shoulders back, chin high… and scowl just a bit, like you just swallowed a lime."

"A lime?"

"Something sour. She _always_ looks like she has an awful taste in her mouth. She calls it _focusing_. Or something. I don't really listen."

Rorie tries hard to wipe the smile off her face and imagines chewing on a bitter gumdrop. She stands akimbo, and gives Knight her best deadpan expression. He stares back with equal apathy, and the stand-off eventually becomes a competition. Rorie loses in short order, turning her face away as she giggles.

"Urgh! You're a _terrible_ Trinity!"

"I'm sorry, it's just… these sunglasses. They look so silly."

"What is it with you free borns? This is official old-school resistance eyewear! It drips with attitude! Here… come here, girly-girl." Knight leads her over to a mirror and pulls her hair back, tight. While Rorie has her father's eyes, her slender, ski-jump nose and tiny lips are Trinity's. So with trademark Red Queen shades on, and her long hair tied, she looks very much like a younger version of her mother.

"There," he says to her reflection. "Now, imagine yourself in blood-soaked black leather, packing a pair of Beretta 84's." He touches the nonexistent holsters on her hips, and draws the weapons with a pair of extended thumbs and index fingers. "The agents are chasing you over the rooftops of Hong Kong. Pow! Pow! Pow! Bullets whiz by your head as you run through the darkness. You're swift, elegant, stealthy… but not fast enough. One grazes your calf, another, your thigh. You stumble your way to the edge of the roof. There's nowhere to go… faced with the barrel of a Desert Eagle, you gaze directly into the eyes of the agent, ready to die. Or so he thinks. On blind faith and your legendary instinct, you let yourself fall back, knowing that somehow, the love of your life will be there to catch you."

Rorie, getting more into character, tilts her head slightly to the side. "So, is he?" she asks evenly, her voice a little lower than it normally is.

"Of course. The One has a knack for daring last minute rescues. You're caught, mid-flight." Knight bends her back, and in a very fast, effortless movement, sweeps her up into his arms, carrying her to the couch. "And flown away to a distant rooftop… where you swoon."

"_Excuse_ me?"

He chuckles at Rorie's classic imitation of her mother as he sits with her in his lap. "Yes. Let me see you swoon, Trin-style."

She puts her arms around his neck, and looks into his eyes through dark lenses with a completely blank expression. He smirks and nods. She's getting better that this.

"Neo?" she whispers.

"Yes, my love?"

"Are those… noodles on your shirt?"

"_Shit_," he curses in the deep, husky voice he has often heard The One use in a crunch. "Damn chopsticks."

"And plum-sauce or your tie?" Rorie grimaces. "Neo! Put me down. You're all sticky. I hate sticky. And messy. And all things fun."

"A miracle you were even born."

"Let's not go there."

"Agreed."

The sound of a key in the front door startles Rorie onto her feet. She snatches the glasses off her nose and Knight does the same, hiding them behind their backs just as Neo and Trinity enter. They are wearing matching squash uniforms and carry racquets.

"Hi Trin…. Sir," Knight greets the pair with his usual disproportionate amount of formality. "Who won?"

"Oh, Knight. You now it isn't important whether you win or lose," Neo says. "It's about the thrill of competition."

"Congratulations, Mom."

"Thank you, Rorie." Trinity slips her shoes off and raises an eyebrow to her daughter, then to Knight. "Alright, what's going on? Are you going to tell me, or are you going to wait until I hear it from the police?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Knight, I know you too well. Your eyes have that look that they get right before you do something stupid. Or right _after_," she replies, picking up the towel that Neo has just tossed over the back of a chair. She folds it neatly.

"Come to think of it, we see that expression quite often these days," Neo remarks. "Are you sure his face didn't just get stuck like that?"

"Oh, ha, ha, ha." Knight fumbles with the sunglasses in his hand and slips them into his back pocket. "You sound like two people who don't want their _presents_. Maybe I should just leave two lumps of coal in your sock-drawers and leave with my bag of goodies."

Trinity continues to regard him suspiciously. "A little early for your usual Christmas rounds, Knight."

"Well, it just so happens that your daughter and I went to the _museum_ today."

At this revelation, Neo and Trinity _both_ look like they'd just swallowed limes. "Did you?" she says with an unreadable tone, glancing at her husband sideways. "Well, isn't that… _nice_."

"I told you, we should have wired that place with explosives when we had the chance," Neo mumbles, pouring some cold water into a glass. "Trin, go get the gunpowder under our bed and start making shells."

"Dad!" Rorie scolds him. "That is not funny. You haven't even seen the exhibit."

"And I have no intentions to. You know I heard they have that sentinel lit up like a goddamned Christmas tree," he comments distastefully, handing Trinity the glass of water after he takes a gulp. "The thing nearly killed your mother and they display it like a trophy. I'm angry with fleet command for even giving it to them."

"Neo-" Trinity shakes her head. "Leave it alone. They don't understand."

"It wasn't all like that," Rorie persists. "A lot of it was very nicely done. People in this city are grateful to you for what you did. What you both sacrificed."

"This city will _never_ know what we've sacrificed," Neo retorts softly, but there is a sudden darkness about him that makes Knight uneasy. "Nobody will."

"Daddy, your sacrifices gave thousands of people _hope_. They still give people hope. Isn't that worth celebrating? Isn't that worth _remembering_?"

Neo meets her eyes and sighs. Rorie has a way with her father, and it has never been more clearly demonstrated. "You spend too much time with Morpheus," he says, visibly disarmed. "Soon he'll have you interning on the council and preaching rhetoric in the temple."

"I promise. My rhetoric doesn't leave this house. Uncle Morpheus is vocal enough for both of us."

If there were any tension left in the room, Rorie's wry comment dissolves it. Neo smiles at her affectionately. "Alright then, if I have your word on it. So… you brought us back presents, hm?"

She rolls her eyes. "Knight did. In fact, he spent most of his time in the gift shop. Like always. He'll walk right past a collection of precious animal fossils, and then rush to buy the tacky snow-globe that trivializes the nuclear winter which killed them in the first place."

"I like snow-globes," the young man claims defensively as he produces two plastic bags from his pile of purchases. "Reminds me of my childhood. _Eh, Trin? Les hivers blancs à la belle province?"_

The reference to their shared home-province of Québec, Canada, makes Trinity smirk. "_T'es_ e_ncore désespérément dépendant du système,"_ she says in his native tongue. It is a common phrase on the ship, one that she uses often when her newbies speak longingly about their lives in the Matrix. _You're still hopelessly dependent on the system._

Knight hands her the gift he selected. "So you'll be happy to know I've found a new toy. And I got you, one, too. Maybe later they can spar together. Or mud-wrestle. Or do each other's nails and hair."

Trinity gives him a strange look and peeks into the bag. A smile creeps across her face and her eyebrows shoot up is a strikingly uncharacteristic expression. "Oh, no. You didn't."

"_Bien sûr. Vous êtes une superstar!" _

"Knight! You monster."

"What is it?" Neo asks.

She hides the package. "It's nothing. It's stupid."

"A Trinity action-figure is _not_ stupid!" Knight exclaims. "She's the new Barbie!"

"A Trinity _what_!"

"I'll go get that gunpowder now." Trinity tries to scuttle away, but Neo hurries after her, pulling her back into the living room. After some wrestling, coaxing, and a long period of reluctance, Trinity gingerly reveals the PVC-clad doll. It's a roughly ten-inch replica of her RSI, with removable sunglasses and cell-phone. Neo gawks at it, apparently not sure whether to be amused or offended. After a few moments of examining the tiny pair of metal Berettas in her holsters, he decides on the former and laughs it off.

"There's a button on her back that says _push me_," he observes, glancing from his wife to the figurine, then back to the full-sized version. He pokes her. She slaps him. He pokes the doll, and her tiny plastic arm flies up, then down again in a karate-chop-like motion. "Wow, that's creepy. It's like reverse voodoo or something."

"Oh, my God. It knows jujitsu?"

"No, that's so she can type at the computer. They programmed this thing to crack the IRS-D Base," Knight says drolly, avoiding his captain's glare by handing Neo the second bag. "This one is for you. So that Trinity Junior won't be lonely."

The One reaches into the package and examines his own miniature likeness with a pricelessly bewildered expression. The figurine is shirtless, and ripped beyond reason (the name Arnold Schwarzenegger comes to mind). Trinity chortles as she glances over his shoulder. "Hm. Nice. But who is it?"

"Said Mrs. Pot to Mr. Kettle."

"I thought I was the spoon."

"What I mean is, little Trin's bust isn't exactly proportional to her waist, so let's not get personal." He turns the action-figure in his hands a few times, regarding it curiously. "What's he _do_?"

Trinity takes it from him and looks it over. She shrugs. "Nothing."

"What?" Neo scowls. "Impossible. He has to do _something_… I'm The One, for God's sake!"

"Sorry, love. Mr. Kettle can't even boil water. Ironically, it's the only thing you and the Terminator here have in common."

"Well, I have to say… this has me pretty _steamed_."

"Oh, no."

"Sorry. I knew that one would get me into hot water."

"No, I mean I figured out what he does." Trinity seems to discover a hidden lever. "He flies. Here, walk across the room and I'll show you."

Neo dumbly complies, at which point Trinity quite simply tosses the doll to him. As the two younger people snigger at his gullibility, he folds his arms across his chest. "Yes, thank you, dear. You're very funny. A shame the _real_ you doesn't have an off switch."

"Don't be so sure. In fact, you're turning me off right now."

"_Kaboom!_" Knight laughs. "Dodge _that_! You're so cool, Trin."

"Knight?"

"Yes sir."

"Shut up."

"Gotcha."

"You know, their hands fit together perfectly," Rorie chimes in. "They're magnetic."

The husband and wife gaze at each other at the cheesy symbolism, and without a word, they sit the two mini-superheroes together on the dining table, positioning them hand-in-hand. Neo imitates the action on a larger scale and kisses Trinity quickly on the forehead. "There, now," he whispers. "Go get the gunpowder. Tonight, you and I will waste that joint."

Trinity takes his jaw in her hand, pecking him on the lips. "We'll sneak out like ninjas and be back before the nerd even notices."

"I can _hear_ you!" The nerd folds her arms. "And it wasn't all nonsense! You'd see that if you just walked through the exhibit!"

"If you're referring to that marble statue of us, your father and I have seen it."

"Not just that. They have tons of artifacts from your first apartment in Zion. They rebuilt the entire room right in the museum. It's pretty cool."

Trinity frowns. "How'd they get their hands on any of that stuff? I saved everything."

"No, it's all from Dad's place."

"What are you talking about?" Neo scowls. "_My_ place?"

"On level 101, east arc? The quarters assigned to you by the active housing committee at the time. They've declared it a historical landmark. Nobody's allowed to live there."

"Rorie… I've never _been_ to level 101. I couldn't even tell you how to get there."

"Then, where did you…" she trails off as comprehension dawns. "_Oh_. Ew."

"This, coming from the young lady who is writing a book about my personal life?" Trinity asks. "Is that your professional, journalist's opinion, Rorie? _Oh, ew_?"

"Yes. In fact, it's the working title of my entire section on your shore leave in Zion."

"Lovely."

"In any case, the public's got it wrong," Rorie concludes. "Dad went home with you."

"Well, of course he came home with me. We had…"

"A tea party," Neo interjects. Off Rorie's scowl, he shrugs. "That metaphor worked when you were four."

"No, it didn't."

"I was going to say we had _a committed relationship_."

"But… don't you think that it was kinda…" Rorie hesitates and then comes out with it. "Fast?"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Well, how long had you known Dad for… like, three weeks at best? After all your lectures to me about waiting…"

"That's different."

"How?"

A beat passes as all three of them look to Trinity for her answer. She frowns. "Your father… well… he's The One."

"Well done, Mother."

"Okay." Trinity pats Rorie on the head, tucks her hair behind her ear. "You just wait until you fall in love, my dear. Then we'll talk about how long three weeks can feel."

"Trin, don't give her any ideas."

"Don't worry, sir. I'll personally do away with any guy who so much as looks at her." Knight folds his arms with as much macho as he can muster. "Nobody's getting past _this_ bouncer to club Rorie. I am guarding all the doors. I am holding all the keys."

Rorie sighs and pats him on the shoulder. "Which means that sooner or later, someone's going to flatten him."

"Don't think I haven't given that some thought," Knight says, slipping an arm around her waist. "Why do you think I bought myself a Trinity action figure?"

"I wasn't even going to ask."

"She's my backup."

"Yeah, a guy with a doll. That'll scare those pesky suitors away."

They laugh, and Knight pulls her close and pecks the top of her head. He holds her for a beat or two, then whispers, "Speaking of doing stupid things that will probably end with me in the hospital, we have to go."

"Yes. Yes, we do." Rorie picks up the rest of the packages they brought from the museum gift shop. "We'll be back for supper."

Trinity pierces Knight with an ice blue stare. "What _are_ you up to?" she asks in her most intimidating voice.

"Nice try, Trin," Knight slides his sunglasses on. "But I've discovered Neo's secret to defending against your _magie noir_. Observe. I see no evil… thus I fear no evil…"

Trinity's jaw drops, and she is about to tell him to go elsewhere for food and shelter if she is so _evil,_ but just then the poor boy walks straight into the door. He stumbles back, curses in French, and then says he's all right, if someone could just hand him a tissue, he'll be just fine. Just a little nosebleed… no big deal…

And this is the man guarding her Rorie's virtue?

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to buy her some pepper-spray.

_**1010101**_


	28. AN

_1.28 AM, October 16, 2006  
Second Cup, McKay and Ste Catherine, Downtown Montreal_

_**Author's Notes – **_

Alright, to answer everyone's first question (indeed, the most pertinent, and also the most irrelevant) –_ a celebratory mocha with whipped cream! _My largest consecutive posting – six chapters at once – is complete, and ready to go!

Welcome back, Sydney Andrews. Welcome back, indeed.

I apologize for this belated posting. But it was important for me to post these next installments together, rather than one or two a week. It was also important to me that they be the best I could possibly make them – to post something I could really be excited about. I truly hope you all enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

The past month has been complicated for me, hence my exile. I met someone, committed three weeks of my life to him, and then had an epiphany of common sense and ran the other way. I'm still running.

I also did a lot of reading, my exercise for soul-searching. Because of this, there are echoes of Ian McEwan (_Atonement_ and _A Child in Time_), Gregory Maguire (_Wicked _and _Son of A Witch_), and Frank McCourt (_Teacher Man_) in these chapters, as great writing lifts the heart and the heart is where all writing, even mediocre writing, begins.

Writing is also an exercise in self-discovery. Because of this I'd like to extend my love and deepest esteem to my fellow members of the Matrix fanfiction community, the TLG crew and others. I wouldn't have kept up with this if it weren't for my sincere joy in reading your works, and the benefit of your encouragement. What we have here, ladies and (one) gentleman, is a wonderful learning environment of mutual support. It fuels my love of education, of writing, and of life.

That being said, the next 25, 000 words are dedicated to the fans, the fangirls, the fanboy, the readers and reviewers who work hard to better themselves, and better each other through writing. If I become a teacher, this is the kind of classroom I will strive to create. I fear I will never achieve it. The world of Matrix fanfiction is unique.

I'd like to mention _elementalplatinum_ and _Zinck_ by name, because they will kindly receive my mention of them in the coming chapters – _edit_ and _Zinck's Story_ are recommended reading to anyone who has not yet discovered them.

Thanks also to those who have sent me encouragement, nagged me, whispered death threats, etc, for more of Rorie(check!), Knight (check!), TriNeo (checkcheck!), smut, puns, romance, friendship, and a whole lot of laughs (consider them all checked!).

Enjoy, and keep writing, learning, and loving life,

_-Sydney._


	29. CHAPTER TWENTYTWO

* * *

**_The Last Exile: Chapter 22  
Will The Real IRS D-Base Trinity, please stand up? _**

* * *

_"Neo, please... I've... I've never done this before." _

The One took her in his iron embrace, giant sinews of two great arms enveloping her completely. "I'll be gentle," he promised, trapping her lips with inevitable finality. His body - a specimen of masculine perfection - was hard and soft, demanding and gentle, exotic and yet familiar, as if she had been making love to him her entire life. Trinity took him in with limpid blue eyes, sparkling like sapphire and flame. She caught her breath, and trembled as he touched her, the raging testament of his arousal pressing against her thigh. It was fear and excitement that drove the tempo of her heart forward, that educed ablutionary tears, which fell from her alabaster cheeks to his chest in drops of liquid, everlasting Love.

* * *

**Zion, circa 2219.**

The proceeding fiction will be familiar to any reader who has conducted a search through the online literature for documentation on my parent's early history. This anonymously-written romance (perhaps the author is ashamed, or afraid of being sued) is only one of hundreds which circulate digitally, or in hard-cover, or, for those who cannot read, in audio format. I came across this specific example of horrendous invention while helping a… "friend" of mine move. He claims an ex-girlfriend left it at his place. For his sake, I can only pray that this is true.

What is it about my parents that inspires such shameless speculation? Surely, there are more attractive, younger, _childless _couples in the public eye who would appreciate the attention. The sociologist (not to mention the traumatized teenager) in me screamed for answers. So, yesterday evening, I threw the subject out to the dinner table for general discussion, making the tactless assumption that my parents were aware of this phenomenon. Indeed, only _one_ was.

"What book?" my mother demanded. "What are you _talking_ about?"

At this point my father grimaced at me as if to say, _nice going_. But the message was received a little too late, because I already had the novel in my hand, and she was already reaching for it.

"_The Passion of The One _," she read incredulously from the cover, and then fanned through the four hundred and fifty-two pages, jaw dropping as if in wonder that a book with this title could be so long. "You've read this?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. As I was saying to Rorie, an ex-girlfriend left it at my place..." Knight trailed off when he realized that the question had been addressed to my father. He cleared his throat and made an awkward attempt at a stretch and a yawn. "It's later than I thought. And I have homework, so..."

But my mother wasn't listening, having opened the tome at a random page and begun reading, "Specimen of masculine perfection...! Raging testament of his arousal…!" Her eyes darted all over the page until she seemingly found something even _more_ offensive. _"I had never done this before?"  
_  
"I can see this is a family matter, so I'll just-"

"Knight, shut up."

"Yessir."

Mom slapped the book shut with a livid _whack_. "I wasn't a virgin! Why does everybody think that?"

"I don't."

"Knight-"

"Sorry. I meant, I don't think about it at all. And a man's dreams are his own damn business."

My mother sighed tiredly, as if to ask us all why we continued to answer the door when Knight came by. Nobody offered a reply, because _she_ was always the one letting him in. My father, who felt obliged to react somehow, clutched his dinner knife tightly and glowered.

"Look," Knight said in his most reasonable tone, "all I'm saying is, Trin is hot. _Si hot 'n spicy qu'elle me fait souffrir. _And, as far as one guy can notice the looks of another guy, Neo is pretty decent as well. If you'll permit the observation, sir."

"I'm sure I would not."

"Rorie is the one who brought the book to the table," he reminded us all of my culpability before taking a liberal sip of wine. "I told her not to. But here it is, so we might as well say what we think. Most people in this city, including you, sir, credit Trin with your… shall we say, Oneness?"

"I think I'm getting indigestion."

"So we'll say Oneness. And the Oneness killed the sentinels and deleted the agents and started the truce that saved the city and preserved all Zion's ungrateful souls and the even _more_ ungrateful souls of their children. That is to say, _us_."

Knight looked at me as if to ask for support, as if it ever matters what I think once he's started on one of his speeches. What could I say to appease him?

"Amen," is what I said. He gave me a strange look and continued.

"So, in essence, it was your love affair that saved the world as we know it. And with your both being _so_ attractive, can you really be surprised there is a novel? I'm surprised there isn't a movie. Hell, I'm surprised there aren't three movies_. The Matrix Trilogy_: it's a fortune waiting to be had."

"This is pornographic slander," my mother fired back. "It has no basis in reality, not that it's anyone's business how accurate it is in the first place. It isn't anyone's right to speculate. Especially about my virginity, for God's sake. I was twenty-seven! What is there to speculate about?"

"Trin." My father frowned. "We get the point."

Knight shrugged, a universal gesture that anyone would take to mean, _what are you going to do? _"The people love you. The people love you loving each other. Let the ones who are so pitifully unsatisfied with their own sex lives live vicariously through false accounts of yours."

"Like your girlfriend, apparently," my father deadpanned, and I choked on my food. Mom had to get up for some water, poorly disguising her amusement as a cough.

"Well, it's certainly an interesting cultural phenomenon," I offered, thinking that I could very well be the most mature person at the table. "I did a basic search, and one online archive boasts approximately 500 stories featuring the two of you as central characters. One tenth of those are rated for adult readers only. Mostly written by a cult of young female writers who call themselves _fangirls_. Apparently, they think Dad is... well…" I searched for the right words.

"_A specimen of masculine perfection_," Knight quoted, and winked at my father. "Way to _go_, sir."

"You shouldn't be reading it," Dad said disapprovingly, and then thought to himself for a few moments before asking, "What website?"

"Thinking of making a contribution, dear?" Mom asked.

"Well, it isn't as if I have a lack of source material."

And didn't that hang awkwardly for a few seconds. Until Knight whispered to me, "They should enjoy it while they can. Only a few years left before they're too old to entice the public's unquenchable thirst for smut. Your Dad's forehead is getting bigger and bigger. Soon, there'll be nothing at all."

I hit him, but he kept on, as Knight is wont to do (irritating leech!). "They'll be on to you next, you know," he said. "You're next in line. Pity on you and your lover, should you ever loosen up enough to have one."

"And pity on all your wretched girlfriends, who will be reading _all_ about it."

And we both laughed at that.

* * *

_  
And we both laughed at that_. 

Rorie types out her latest journal entry as she curls up on her bed, laptop propped by a pile of pillows. Lately, her research notes and diary have become a single entity, the result of which is an unpublishable mess of few facts and much suppressed personal conflict. Rather than a real writer, she sounds like a brat prattling on about the stupidity of her parents (and at the rate they're going, she'll have a trilogy by the week's end). And somehow, the tiresome Knight has snaked his way into every recent addition.

_And we both laughed at that._

Perhaps she is inclined to record the happy camaraderie because it may very well be the last decent words they ever say to each other. And so be it. Let this be his final chapter!

She opens a new file, and writes freely and with malice,

_Knight's communal sacrifice was swift work and over by eleven. An army of angry ex-girlfriends (strong in number and spite) hung him from the low bicep of a willow tree and teased him to death with whispered promises of love in unruly positions. The blood ran from his head and down to his groin in such a rush as to induce instant cardiac arrest. He died a painful death by erection, and the state of the corpse left little to the imagination, and even less to be envied.  
_  
She smiles cruelly. Never mind she has never seen a willow tree. The fairy-tale suits him perfectly. Let Knight die as he lived, in a fantasy world of sex, glee and dark humor. Everything is a joke to him. Her projects are a joke to him. _Love_ is a joke to him. Correction, _girls_ are a joke to him. Surely, his romantic escapades (much gossiped about, and frowned upon, in her circles) cannot be called love. And never mind, because she has made the decision not to concern herself with it anymore. Tonight was the last straw.

Using the Neb as a love nest! _Shameful_. The idiot even tried to convince her that there was nothing going on. With lipstick all over his mouth and two mood-setting candles (still lit) propped over the operator's view screen. 

"_Leepsteeck_?" Knight exclaimed, adopting an exaggerated French accent that he likes to think sounds exactly like the Merovingian. He nudged her in the ribs. "What _craziness _are you talking about, woman? There is no… _leepsteek_!"

But Rorie was not amused. Yes, she lost her temper. Who wouldn't? Occasionally, she _sits_ in that chair he was in. She didn't want to have to worry about catching anything from it…. from the latest lover who would be in and out of his life within a week, and then, God knows, on to the next soldier. Rorie said as much, and how _dare_ Knight accuse her of flying off the handle? She doesn't fly. And he is too much to _handle_. Like a child, with capricious, childish appetites.

And then, how _dare_ he lose his temper with her. He should have been begging for her discretion. After all, if her mother knew about this-

"I don't think Evey deserves to be judged so harshly."

"I meant, _Mom_ wouldn't appreciate your using her ship as a harem."

"Not Trinity. I'm talking about _you_."

"Me? I wasn't-"

"For your information, I've been seeing Evey for two months now. And I'd thank you very much to speak about her with more respect. You know, if anyone ever talked about _you_ like that, _Aurora_, I don't have to tell you I wouldn't stand for it."

"Well, nobody will ever speak about _me_ like that, because I conduct myself with some _class_."

That is as far into the argument as she can remember without feeling nauseous. He overreacted, to be sure. And she tried to apologize. Well, she was going to try until he called her a condescending snob who put her nose in where it didn't belong. He _knew_ she would do this, Knight exclaimed! Why does she think he didn't tell her about Evey in the first place?

Rorie was speechless. In fact, this was the point that stung the most. She'd never heard him so much as say her name before then.

Because, Knight said into her dumb silence, I knew you'd look down on her, just as youve looked down on all the others. The way you look down on _me_.

Look _down_ on him? It was like he'd immersed her heart in a beaker of ice water. What could she say to that? Apparently nothing, because she spun on her heel and left the dock in tears. _Tears_!

Rorie feels like crying again. She pulls her legs up to her chest and hugs herself, letting her chin rest on one knee. She waits to hear the sound of the phone, if only so she can ignore it, or better… hang up on him. Make him crawl to the door and wait on the stoop all night, begging forgiveness. But somehow, Rorie knows that this will not happen.

She is certain that Knight isn't suffering as she is. He isn't hurt. He isn't lonely. She imagines he is somewhere, off with _Evey_. She imagines _Evey_ helping him forget _all_ about it. They're sipping cocktails in some club, feeding each other dinner, laughing, kissing, making everyone around them sick. Miss Right (Now) will brush his goofy curls out of his eyes and gush about how adorable they are, and he'll pretend that she is the first girl to tell him that.

"Mom!" Rorie shouts out suddenly, hearing her voice sounding like a kid who has had a bad dream. She groans at herself and throws the covers aside. She finds her mother at her desk, gaping wide-eyed at the computer's screen. "Mom!"

Trinity jumps, and quickly hides what she is reading. "Yes?"

"Do you know Knight's girlfriend - apparently, he's been seeing her for _months_. Did you know about this?"

Trinity seems confused, or guilty, and takes a few moments to answer. "Evelyn, right?"

"Oh, is that her real name? He calls her _Evey_."

"She's a student of mine. I asked Knight tutor her, and apparently, they really hit it off. Knight has been going on and on…" Trinity leans back from her desk and smiles. "It's cute, actually. He asked me if he could have a little anniversary party on the Neb with her tonight. Apparently, she's always wanted to see the bridge. Who was I to say no?"

"The _captain_ of said ship."

"Hum?"

"You asked who you were to say no. You were _precisely_ the person to say no."

"I like this one," Trinity says. "No piercings. No police record. That I know of. Small steps, is what I told him. Small steps."

Rorie rolls her eyes and folds her arms. Trinity raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"What, what?" Rorie echoes. "What nothing. I have to go."

* * *

Trinity watches her daughter rush from the room with mild concern, eclipsed promptly with a simmer of self-satisfaction. Both kids out of the house. And damned if she'll feel guilty for being pleased. Is it too much to ask that once in awhile, she could have a little privacy? She hopes they'll be out all night. Well, at the very least, Knight is a sure thing. He may be a goof, but that ship is damn romantic. Even he can't strike out. Not on the Neb. 

Trying not to think about anything that will spoil her mood, Trinity surreptitiously lifts the screen of her laptop. Back to… whatever it was she was doing. Conducting research? Satiating curiosity? Plotting revenge? Having a little fun?

In truth, she doesn't know whether to be mortified or aroused by what she finds on the smutty online archive that calls itself _Neo's Hard Drive_. If anything, she should whip up a virus to email to every author here. At the _very_ least, she should post a strongly-worded review. But the site has banned anonymous comments. She needs to 'sign up.' No, she needs to hack the _shit_ out of this place. But all in good time. First things first.

User name?

Well, that's easy enough.

TRINITY.

Sorry, that username is already taken. Please try again.

Figures. She should have anticipated that. Best to think of something a little less on-the-nose.

User name?  
_THE_ TRINITY.

Sorry, that username is already taken. You may want to try the following available variations:

_THE_ TRINITY2367851  
_THE_ TRINITY2367852  
_THE_ TRINITY2367853  
_THE_ TRINITY2367854 …

Trinity growls. Damned if she'll take a number for her _own _name.

User name?  
THE MOTHERFUCKIN' IRS D-BASE TRINITY, GODDAMNIT!

Sorry, that username has too many characters.

She sighs, and thinks she must be losing her edge if she isn't cunning enough to register for a monthly _'TriNeo'_ newsletter. She lifts her fingers from the keyboard and considers a pseudonym that will afford more anonymity. Something nobody will recognize. Something nobody knows. Suddenly, she types out the first name that enters her mind, though she can't imagine where it comes from. She hasn't thought of this name in years. Her mother's name.

SYDNEY ANDREWS.

Login Successful. Welcome, SYDNEY ANDREWS. You are now a fangirl!

Now _that's_ a sentence she never thought she'd read – her mother, a PhD in particle physics, is a fangirl. Somewhere in the Matrix, a digital corpse just turned in a digital grave. But nevermind. She has infiltrated the cult. She is _one_ of them. She is has joined the golconda of _fangirls_… and one fan_boy_ … a strange lad who seems to fancy himself her fictional son (creepy notion, but he's got a catchy name). Trinity momentarily suspects Knight, but really, _really_ hopes she is wrong.

Hey, SYDNEY ANDREWS, ready to search the archive of Neo's HARD DRIVE? (Warning! Contents are _hot_!)

Trinity grimaces and goes to work, narrowing the parameters of her search:

Genre: ROMANCE.  
Rated: M.  
Character 1: TRINITY.  
Character 2:

She hesitates when a long drop-down menu appears. There are _other _choices for Character 2? She looks over the list, and finds herself coughing on her herbal tea.

Char2: All  
Morpheus  
Agent Smith  
The Keymaker  
Persephone ...

It is certainly a tempting premise for a good game of _would you rather._ Indeed after pausing to think about it, Trinity is surprised to discover that, if she _had_ to choose, Persephone would easily be at the top of her list.

_Fascinating_.

Character 2: NEO.

50 results load onto the screen. She checks behind her, and calls out her husband's name, satisfied that he must be sleeping when she receives no reply. So she leans back in her seat, and settles in for a very interesting evening, beginning with result (and victim) number one…

_Edit, _by _elementalplatinum_. "TriNeo. A little role play, and Neo testing out his new skills. Rating for smut and bad suits."

Bad suits? Trinity thinks of Tom's suits. In truth, she found them a little sexy, in a twerpy sort of way. Obviously, this person doesn't know them at all…

* * *

Dear Rorie,

I write this letter, hoping, at least, that you are still 'dear.' I'm afraid you may no longer think so. For my part, I regret the whole messy thing. I can't imagine what came over us! Perhaps it's this awful heat wave… that's a bit of humor, of course, that will probably make you crosser. Behold my tattered white flag - I seem using it so often these days.

At least, we should talk?

_- Knight._

As he sits in the operator's chair, Knight knows that he will not send it. He is still too angry with her to send it. His heart is tied in a knot, his evening is ruined, probably his mood for the next few days. It's a monumental mess, and completely unnecessary. At lest, the _crying_ was unnecessary. For God's sake, he probably won't even be able to sleep, knowing he made her cry. And it was like the tears came out of _nowhere_. A torrent of aqueous death-spears, each one maliciously aimed straight at his heart!

Where had things gone so horribly wrong? He used to enjoy it when Rorie picked his girlfriends apart – she used to do it with a good-natured charm that was becoming of a cheeky younger sister. Her possessiveness of him was cute and made him feel loved. But not tonight. Tonight, it all played out differently, like a nightmarish alter ego of their usual banter.

She was downright vicious. There was no humorous undertone to her comments, no self-mocking pretence of haughty _noblesse_ – Rorie was condescending, and wickedly so.

Now that he thinks about it, almost everything about her is different. The way she stands is different, the way she looks is different. She greets him at the door with an airy formality now, her shoulders set back, chin up higher. She wears designer pumps, even though she can't walk properly in the silly things. Is it all a device to put distance between them? To elevate herself in height as well as social station? Well, she is still short. And he isn't impressed by her not-quite-so-incidental remarks about several young men (and one or two older ones) who have asked for places on her dance-card. So if you're interested, Knight, she said with a flip of that long, raven hair (newly curled at the tips and fragranced with something unwholesomely bewitching), you'd better reserve me for last dance.

But he is _always_ her last dance at Temple gatherings. For God's sake, he was her _first_ dance at a Temple gathering. He snuck her out one night when she was too young to be there and blew his friends off to be her body-guard-slash-lookout. Now she wants him to _reserve _her? When he could be dancing with one of the topless bi-curious women who are known to liberally extend invitations to their even-more-liberal after parties?

Or he could be dancing with Evey - perhaps this is the key. Maybe it is as simple as this. He and Rorie are growing apart, and it's the natural order of things that he should be spending more time with his girlfriend, anyway. Given the right amount of effort, he could even fall in love with her. Evey is a loveable person. In a year's time, he could marry her and be blissfully happy. He is not averse to settling down, providing it's with someone attractive enough. It'll be a huge wedding in the Temple, and his vows will be so heartfelt that it will bring a tear to the Judge's eye. Trinity will give a moving toast at the reception – oh, how she'll miss him around the house! What a lucky young lady to have won the heart of her almost-son! And then Mr. Fickle will buy a cozy little cave in the suberbs and have some kids.

That'll show Rorie. He'll have a life, a real _life_, and she'll still be a virgin, dousing her hair with perfume and taking inventory of her dance card, turning her nose up at every hapless male who falls under her spell. Poor bastards will be rushing her to the hospital every time she trips in those stupid shoes, and will _still_ have to be satisfied with a kiss goodnight.

Knight snatches up the phone and punches a phone number, quickly, before he can change his mind. It rings and rings. He is about to hang up when the receiver seems to topple over and clamor in someone's hand.

"Yes, hello? _Hello_?"

"Trin?" She doesn't sound like herself. A little breathless, and more than usually impatient. "You okay? It's not a bad moment?"

"Well, actually..." she trails off and clears her throat. "What is it? Rorie isn't here."

He lets out a breath, relieved. "No, I wanted to talk to you."

"Yes?" Silence. "I thought you were on a date."

"I was... we called it an early night. I had... work to do." He looks wearily at the screens in front of him. "You know my girlfriend, right?"

"_Jesus in heaven help me with these two._ Yes, I _know_ your girlfriend. What? What is it?"

"You... you _like_ her, right?"

"Does it matter?"

He isn't sure why, but it does. "Please just... be honest. You don't think I'm making a mistake? If I'm, you know, _serious_ about her?"

"I think your mistake was in choosing to ask _me_ this question." But Trinity isn't being unkind. She never is, with him. Her tone softens as she says, "She's a very nice girl, Knight. Yes, I like her. She's making you happy?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she is."

"But not right now."

"Hum?"

"You called it an early night? It isn't even nine o'clock."

"I just had some things to get done. Well, I thought I did. Now, I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Anyway, I'll see her tomorrow."

"So, what's the problem? What has you so desperate you'll ask for _my_ advice?"

"I just…" He twists the phone cord around his finger a few times and paces as far as the slack will allow, and back again. He feels foolish but then lets it out, "How do you… you know, _know_… if she's the one?"

There is a long pause. "You mean if the Oracle hasn't told you?"

"Actually, I did ask her. She told me to ask you."

Trinity chuckles, and Knight doesn't bother telling her that he isn't joking. "In that case…" she says, "I'll tell you what the Oracle told me. _The one you love, _she said,_ will be the one_."

"That's not very helpful, Trin."

"You wouldn't think so, but it's gotten me this far."

"I was hoping for something a little less abstract. If you could use a little… _magie noir_ to tell me my future?"

She doesn't answer right away. He asks if she's still there. "Yes, yes, just give me a second to dust off the… the fucking family crystal ball," she snaps, and he grins. "Now let me take a look… let me see. Yes, here we go. I see you, hanging up the phone and leaving me in peace. I see you, realizing how _stupid_ you've been tonight, and asking the girl of your dreams if she'd like to join you for whatever is _left_ of this _magical _evening. I see you and her having a wonderful time and being _very_ careful not to leave a mess on my ship. Is that _specific_ enough for you, cadet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She sighs, and lowers her voice, "Have a good time. And don't forget to use coasters for the candles."

"I'll use protection. Coasters, I mean. For the candles." He uses their code, and hopes that it is just him who thinks that it's code. Knowing Trinity, she could very well be talking about candle wax.

"I hope so. Be _careful_."

"Always."

"Alright. So... I can go now? Interrogation over? Take a cookie and get out?"

"Yeah." He smiles and toys with an idea before deciding: "Thanks, _Mom_."

She swears at him in French, and then says something about an element of the periodic table, but her Quebeccer is so garbled even he can't make it out. She switches into English to make her point, " _... and if I find out it's you, so help me I'll send you to have your head examined..." _

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Just... don't leave a mess," she hisses. "Or you'll be swabbing the deck with your toothbrush and mopping up with your hair – I don't care how gorgeous your girlfriend thinks it is!"

* * *


	30. CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

* * *

**_The Last Exile: Chapter 23  
Les derniers seront les premiers _**

* * *

Trinity sets the phone down and shakes her head at the receiver. With Neo, that makes three children. _Three_. How much more mothering can one person be asked to do? Which is why she takes particular offense to the overwhelming number of Long-Lost-Child-of-The-One fictions she has discovered. She has reached her quota of offspring, thank you very much. How terrifying a notion, to have a digital daughter pop up out of nowhere with some ridiculous story of how she was separated at birth, wanting to help her and Neo save the world (again). How preposterous! How _cliché_! 

The unknowing mother of four returns to her computer with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Fuckers," she mumbles, eyes glued to the screen. She'll just read a few more Trinity/Persephone stories, and then decompile the entire site.

Suddenly, a dialogue pops up:

SYDNEY ANDREWS, you have received a _PM_ from I COULD BE NEONE. 

She raises an eyebrow. One of the freaks has come out to play? How interesting. She clicks OK. The message reads,

_HeyRU a fangurl? Wanna chat here?_

Trinity frowns. "Oh, I'm a fangirl alright," she says aloud, following the link to one of the site's empty chat rooms. "I'll fangirl the shit out of you."

SYDNEY ANDREWS has joined the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE

I COULD BE NEONE has joined the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE

_Warning: For your safety, never give out your name or any other personal information online. Exchange files at your own risk. Have fun!_

I COULD BE NEONE says: **Hey :-)**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **I like the name.**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **Thnx2u.** **It works like, 3wayz. lol.**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **Yeah, I got it. Ha. Ha. Ha.**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **:-) **  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **So you could be the real Neo, eh? **  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **I'm not supposed to give out my _real_ name, remember So let's just say, I _could_ be The-_One-and-Only_… that is, if Neo is the _type…_ you could really… _click_ with? **

Trinity scowls. "This guy is an asshole."

I COULD BE NEONE says: **U still there?**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **Yes.**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **Just to be sure. You're not… uhm, a _guy_, are you?** **(I have to _screen_ for _e-males_, if you know what I mean)**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **… _Excuse_ me? **  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **Sorry. I'm new here. So RU, I can C.** **Reading any stories U like?**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **I can see you have _edit_ on your favorites list already.**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **Oh_ yeah._** **Have u read it? The One is such a pimp. Heh. Go Neo! He's so kewl. **  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **Oh, please.**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **What? You don't think The One could do it? **

Trinity leans back in her chair and stares at the screen. Does she think Neo could edit the code of her RSI to induce spontaneous orgasms? She'd be lying if she claimed that in nearly twenty years with the man, she hasn't given the idea some thought. But Neo is much more conservative in how, and when he uses his abilities than other people seem to think. He'd find the idea distasteful, on both a professional, and romantic level.

SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **I'd really rather not discuss it with you.**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **You're not one of those girls who think he's a _specimen of masculine perfection_? **  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **There are times when I'm not even one of those girls who finds him masculine. **

ZINCK has joined the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE

ZINCK says: **Hey, Syd! I totally agree! Neo sucks!**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **How dare you! Shut up!**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **Yeah, shut up! **  
ZINCK says: **You two are freaks. **

ZINCK has left the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE

I COULD BE NEONE says: **So Neo's not _masculine_ enough for you, "SYDNEY"? Not manly enough, battling agents and blowing up sentinels, saving your sorry ass from the apocalypse and getting no thanks for it whatsoever? Personally, I'd bet that Trinity – his beautiful, sexy, kick-ass wife - thinks very HIGHLY of Neo's masculinity, and she probably enjoys it IMMENSLEY on a triweekly basis! **  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **EXCUSE ME? It isn't your business what Trinity enjoys, or doesn't enjoy, and how often. It is exactly people like you who are responsible for websites like this!** **Neo and Trinity have a daughter, for God's sake. Did you ever stop to consider _her_?**  
I COULD BE NEONE says: **I'd thank you not to bring Rorie into this.**  
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: **Her name is Aurora to_ you, _NE-ONE.** **And you stay away from her, or else. **

Her scathing rebuke hangs, unanswered, for a few long seconds.

I COULD BE NEONE says: **… Trin? Is that you? **

"…What?"

I COULD BE NEONE says: **Oh, shit. Disconnect!**

"What?"

"I said, disconnect!" Neo yells as he runs from the bedroom to the study, reaching over her shoulder to look into the monitor. "Oh, shit! Shit!"

"What's going on?"

"I sent you a virus!"

"You did what?"

"I didn't know it was _you_, for God's sake. Oh, _shit_!"

"That was _you_?" Trinity stands up and slaps him. "I can't believe that was _you_! You-" she hits him again as he frantically types at the keyboard, and the screen begins to scramble. "You were…" _(slap!) _"…_flirting_ with me…" _(slap!)_ "…You _pig_!"

"I wasn't flirting!"

"You were punning! I know what that means! You were…" _(slap!)_ "_Punning_ at me, you horny sonnovabitch!"

"But you love it when I pun at you!"

"You didn't _know_ it was me. What the hell are you doing, on a site like this, looking for _fangirls_? You make me sick, Neo! Sick! What, you get some kind of big _kick_ out of this?"

"I don't see why you should care!" he fires back, tossing the keyboard aside and throwing his arms in the air. "Most of the time, you don't even think I'm _masculine_!"

"No, you're not masculine, you're a _pimp_! The-One-and-Only! Who is enjoyed by your sexy wife three times a week! How _dare_ you broadcast that!"

"Why not? It hasn't been _true_ for months. Not that it's my business what Trinity enjoys… or, _doesn't_ enjoy, and how often. So, is that it, then? You don't enjoy?"

"That isn't the issue here. I'm talking about your childish banter with who you thought was a young woman obsessed with you."

"I was only flirting a little to keep you chatting so I could send you a virus."

"Oh, please. You were a few messages away from sending me Chlamydia!"

"Hey, whoa- none of this would have happened if _you_ weren't doing the same thing I was," he yells after her as she marches into the bedroom. "So don't try to pin it all on me. We're on the same team, here! Trinity! Trinity!"

He ducks as a pillow flies towards him, followed by a blanket. The bedroom door slams in his face.

* * *

Trinity is an expert when it comes to affairs of the heart. At least, she is largely recognized as such for sinking her claws into a top-notch man and keeping him hooked for nearly two decades, a feat most Zionist women can only dream of achieving. Which is why Knight feels good about taking her advice. _She's your romantic compass,_ said the Oracle. _Your personal Cupid – I wouldn't call her that to her face, mind you. But with her, you can't go wrong, kiddo. Yessiree, stick to that woman like grim death. Death likes that one. _The Oracle shrugged and took a long drag on her cigarette. _So does life._

So Knight relights the candles and puts on his favorite Celine Dion playlist – her French collection, irresistible to the ladies (at least to the ones who don't speak French). Then he chills some cocktails and mixes up some strawberry-flavored army gruel, just in case Evey is feeling especially playful. He calls her, grovels mercilessly for cutting their evening short, and asks her to join him for a special surprise. He isn't quite sure what the surprise is, besides him, wearing too much cologne, his head dripping with _maxi-curl_ product. In a panic, he tries to dry it by turning on the aft engines and sticking his head near the exhaust vents.

The blast deafens him in one ear and fries his hair, turning his once glorious curls into something of a golden afro.

It's a miracle Evey doesn't reject him on sight. But she laughs when she sees him, and covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, what _happened_?" she asks, half-concerned, half-amused. "Did you electrocute yourself, Knightly? Should I take you to the hospital?"

Evey is a tiny thing, built like a paper doll of a real woman. Knight likes to joke that he could fold her like a sweater into his luggage and take her with him on missions.

"Oh, dear," is all she can say, again and again. He grins as milky white fingers pet at puffs of fuzz. "Oh, pookey. That was your one beauty."

He'd hit her playfully if he thought she could take it. Instead, he kisses her on the wrists like a gentleman, and then kisses her on the lips like a scoundrel. "I'm so glad you came back."

"Well, of course I came back. I just couldn't understand why you sent me away in the first place. You know, I didn't come here just to see the _ship_. Though it is beautiful. Everything is so… clean. Thank you for asking Trinity to let me see it. I'm surprised she said yes. She's so protective of it. It's cute, actually, that she still works so hard."

"You tell her she's cute and you'll fail her class for sure."

"Right." She laughs, and slides her arms around his waist. "So… we have all night?"

"Hum-hm." They kiss, and she tastes of salt and lipstick, of delicate and feminine and demure. "I can't wait."

"Knight, did you hear that?"

"You have to speak into _this_ side."

"No, I mean…" She arches an eyebrow. "I think someone else is here."

But by now Knight has heard the footsteps as well, echoing from the deck below. The clickety-clack of a heel leaves no doubt as to whom it could be. "Knight?" His name resonates though the shadows. "Are you up there? Ouch! Ah, my ankle! No, I'm okay. I'm coming."

"Who is that?" Evey glances down the ladder leading to the loading bay.

"It's Rorie." He lets out a breath of frustration. "I'm _so_ sorry about this. We're having a bit of a spat… it's monumentally stupid. Look, why don't you just go up to the cockpit and make yourself comfortable - I've put out some drinks. I'll get rid of her. Just a few minutes, okay?"

"Well, I… I really would like to meet her."

"Tonight isn't a good time, trust me. Please?" He kisses Evey quickly and nudges her, not _quite_ gently, towards the ladder leading out of the core. "That's it. I'll be right up."

The hem of her dress is barely out of sight when Rorie pops her head out from the lower deck. "Why is it so dark in here?" she asks. "I can barely see where I'm going!"

"Rorie, this isn't a good time." He turns the lights on and reaches his hand out to help her up. The courtesy is purely out of habit, and for a moment when their eyes meet, he thinks she will refuse it. But she takes his hand, only for as long as is necessary, to steady herself.

"Thank you," she says curtly, taking a step away from him. "Look. I just came by to say… to say that I'm sorry, _okay_?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, because you know, this whole thing isn't completely my fault and I'm still mad at you for-"

"No, no – I meant, I can't _hear_ you. Speak into the left side. Look, we can sort all this out later, tomorrow? It's a _very_ bad moment."

Her mouth opens, then closes again. "Fine. That's just _perfect_, Knight. Perfect! I come all the way up here to apologize and you blow me off…" She stops speaking as her eyes travel around the core – the candles, the music, and his ridiculous hairdo. Comprehension dawns. "Oh, _no_," she gasps. "_She's_ here, isn't she?"

"Yes. _She's_ here. If you won't condescend to say her name. Now… _off you go_."

But that was too harsh. Knight cringes at his friend's facial expression. Rorie's cheeks flush and she looks away. "Oh, _no,_" she repeats. He thinks she might burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. Damn it. I'll just go. I'll go right now. I didn't know…"

"No, wait." He has to reach out and take her arm to stop her. "Don't go like this."

"No, I'm ruining your night… _again_. I didn't mean to. God, I am _so_ embarrassed. I can't _believe_ I did this again! I feel so stupid…"

Fed up with the entire argument, Knight takes her more firmly, planting her and her ridiculous shoes into the ground in front of him. Damned if she'll run off and leave him to feel miserable for the rest of his date. "It's _okay_. Really. Look, Evey is in the cockpit. She can wait a few minutes. Let's just… talk a bit? I don't want to leave you like this. I… I can't. You mean too much to me."

"I really didn't intend to stay. I… I wrote you a letter, explaining everything. Explaining that I was stupid…"

"I just don't understand why you-" "-I said things I didn't-" "-have to make everything into such a-" "-mean and then you called me a-" "-big deal all the time. And then you start-" "-snob. Which I didn't mean to be. I'm-" "-crying and Rorie you know what-" "-sorry. I'm on my period. And sometimes it makes me a little-" "-that does to me. Jesus! I don't have to know _that_!" "- _moody._"

"You know, for your next birthday, we need to get you a sister. I'm not qualified to deal with your… cycles."

The corner of his lip twitches upward, and she lets herself smile briefly. "Forgive me," she says. "Please. I didn't mean what I said about your friend. I'm ashamed of myself. That I'm so awful you don't even want her to _meet_ me."

"That isn't… that isn't the reason. I'm sorry I said that. The truth is I… I _really_ like her, Rorie. And girls tend to be… well, some of them are intimidated by you. _Us_, I mean. How we are together. I just wanted to be sure that she could handle it, that's all."

"Right. Because when the girlfriend doesn't like the friend, guess who gets the _boot_."

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

Knight knows he's nailed it when she folds her arms and drops her eyes. "I don't know."

"_Rorie_." He takes her shoulders and slides his hands down to her elbows. "The day that a girl tells me I can't spend time with you is the day I know I've chosen the wrong girl."

"I know, I know. I'm too possessive of you. And a little jealous, too. It's just that you're always a few steps ahead of me. And I'm always struggling to keep up. I wish I could… I'm not as good at connecting with people, I guess."

"No, you're just… selective. Someone like you should be selective. To tell you the truth, I'm glad you're such a prude. It saves me the heartache of being the one left out."

Rorie smiles, one of her brilliant smiles that shows in her eyes. She lifts her arms around his shoulders and hugs him, bringing his attention back to the scent in her hair. What the hell is that? She must spray it on her comb in the morning. "Thank you," she whispers. "And who says you'll be the one left out? Maybe you'll be first on my list."

"No, don't talk to me of _lists_," he says firmly. "And if there is a _list_… a very, very _short_ list… I wouldn't want to be first on it. I'd… I'd want to be _last_ on it."

Rorie blushes, but Knight can't see it because she won't let him go. When he says things like this, she always wonders if he delivers the same charming lines to the older girls. She can't imagine Knight would ever be insincere. But how can he, in all honesty, say such a thing to everybody? She doesn't dare ask. She doesn't want to risk getting the wrong answer.

"Well," she says, not being able to meet his eyes. "You forgive me, then?"

"Of course. But can I attach _one_ little condition?"

"Hum?"

"That, if you don't mind, could you promise to not come back here for the next twelve hours?"

She chokes on a chuckle. "Okay. But will you read the email, though? It'll be irrelevant tomorrow – it's just a few sentences and I'd feel so much better if…if _…I knew you'd read my note…"_

Rorie says the second half of the sentence without hearing the words. Something rises up in her throat, and prickles at the back of her mind. It's a sick feeling. It's a cold, devastating sweat. It's confusion, without her even knowing why. Her consciousness grabs at the reason. The memory is there, vague, flashing a warning signal at her. _No_. No, she couldn't have. But even as she denies the possibility- the nightmare- she knows what she has done. She sees herself sending the message in haste, selecting the attachment in a hurry, in a moment of incomprehensible stupidity, or perhaps, of Freudian clarity. He must _not_ open that letter! But it's too late. He's already sitting at the computer.

"_Knight's communal sacrifice was swift work and over by eleven…" _

"No, wait- don't read that! That's a mistake! I sent… I sent the wrong file!"

"_An army of angry ex-girlfriends, strong in number and spite, hung him from the low bicep of a willow tree…" _

"I wrote that… I wrote that in anger. I never intended you to read it!"

"Well then why did you send it to me!"

"I'm sorry!"

_"Death by erection!" _he exclaims. "_And the state of the corpse left little to the imagination, and even less to be envied! _Less to be envied! What the _hell_ does that mean? You think I'm small?"

"I don't know. I don't… Knight, I'm sorry. I'm sure…" She desperately searches for a way to redeem herself. The words roll from her mouth before she can stop them, and she listens to her mindless babbling with growing horror. "I'm sure plenty of men envy the size of your… well, not that any _man_ has ever seen it. Not that _I've_ seen it, or even really want to. I'm sure Evey likes it, and if not… you know… she should know that size isn't everything…"

It is at this moment that Rorie sees the dainty figure of a young woman standing in the shadows. Her lips are parted, her eyes round, like a doe's nervous curiosity. She is precariously holding three glasses of rosy liqueur in a skilled configuration of long fingers and manicured nails. For a moment, Rorie thinks she might faint. And yet it never occurs to her to reach out to catch her. If the lady _does_ faint, it will be with little more peril than a feather floating to the ground. And she is a _lady_ – Rorie owns the dress she has on, in a larger size.

"Evey!" Knight announces, jumping up. "We didn't hear you come down."

"I uhm…" She keeps her eyes locked with Rorie's, even as she sets the glasses down with an effortless grace that is almost aggressive. "I should go. This is obviously a bad night for you."

"Evey, don't leave. Please, I can explain all this."

But there is no stopping her. She takes her wrap, and holds out her hand to Rorie, saying that it would have been very nice to meet her, but under the circumstances, she is sure that propriety would excuse the rudeness of her leaving straight away. And thank you for the tour, Knight. Call me tomorrow, after you have sorted all this nonsense out. _Nonsense_ is said with a flippant wave of her hand, wafting a rosewater perfume across the room. No, please, don't trouble yourself, Knight, I'll see myself home.

After a long time, and they are sure Evey is out of earshot, Rorie says quietly, "Knight, I am _so_ sorry."

He slumps in the operator's chair, his head in his hands. "No. No, it's my fault. I should never have let you in. The doors to this ship _do_ lock. Knight's stupidity. Not yours."

"Maybe I could go after her? I'll explain everything."

"Rorie!"

"Okay, so _you_ can go after her."

He chuckles mirthlessly and shakes his head. "No, really. I think she's had enough of _me_ for one night. I'll… I straighten it out tomorrow. It'll be okay."

Rorie speaks carefully. "Well… she seems _nice._ Very… _cute_."

Knight pierces her with a look she can't identify, and doesn't look away. After a few seconds of merciless staring, he begins to laugh. She doesn't dare join in. She just stands there. Perhaps he's so angry he's gone insane. Finally, he manages by means of explanation, "… _she should know that size isn't everything_. How the hell would _you_ know?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. I've heard Mom say it." This makes him laugh harder, and it's only after a few moments that she realizes the joke at her father's expense. "Oh, no… I'm sure she didn't mean it like that. Dad's… well… he's… he's _The One!_"

Now they're both laughing. Knight slips back into a Parisian accent. "Woman, you will zee the death of me! _Nom de Dieu_! Argh! Alright… _alright_! Let us see where this goes."

He hands her one of the cocktails that Evey left in her wake. "What's this?" she asks.

"I guess it's an invitation. I know I told you to get the hell out of here for the night but… well, this date is pretty much a train wreck with two survivors. Evey's not coming back. Why don't you join me for whatever is left of this… _magical_ evening? I have uhm… I have some strawberry gruel in the cockpit."

"Strawberry gruel?"

"Yeah, it's actually pretty good when it's spread all over…" he trails off and runs his hands through his hair. "Well, I'll get some spoons."

They find some spoons- oddly bent out of shape, but they'll do - and eat the treat chastely, though there is a moment or two when Knight has to resist the temptation to offer her some from his finger. He is only a little drunk - sober enough to know it's the cocktails talking. And the easiness between them is a welcome return to the old days. She kicks off her shoes, and stands by, pretending to be shocked as he puts them in a vice and takes a blowtorch to the heels – for her safety, of course. To get even, she holds no punches with his hair, effervescing into giggles all over again as he describes the disaster of the hair gel, and the cologne, and that there is still a ringing in his ears from the ship's engine. They even manage to laugh at his disastrous date and Evey's icy exit, which they both agree was an overreaction – come on, it was _funny! _

As the hours drift by, Rorie calls home to tell her parents she's okay, being careful not to let on she's been drinking (a feat she prides herself on being quite good at). Use _small_ words, if you can manage, Knight says. Does the nerd _know_ any small words? Oh, shut up. Good, that's it. But I wouldn't use those ones on your Dad.

Surprisingly, her father tells her to stay out as long as she wants. Or, you know what? Why don't you just sleep at Knight's place?

"Strange," she remarks, leaning back in the copilot's chair and propping her stocking feet onto Knight's lap. He warms her toes between his palms.

"Oh, poor, innocent Rorie."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"They're having sex, you dolt."

"What? _No!_ Surely not! Gosh, I'd rather not even think about it." She scowls into her empty glass and turns it upside down, shakes it. "How do you know?"

"Why else would Trin let me have the Neb for a date? The _Neb, _Rorie! She was desperate." He sighs. "After tonight, I think I'm going to know the feeling."

She makes a face, and he pats her on the shoulder. "It's _okay_," he says. "Look on the bright side. At this rate, you may get that sister for your birthday, after all."

"When I was small, I used to _beg_ my parents for a sibling." She turns pensive as he refills her glass. "I think they tried, but it wasn't in the cards. It was said that I was a miracle."

"Maybe when you were born. Then people got to know you."

Suddenly reminded of something, Rorie chooses to ignore that. "I have this memory of when I was seven or so… there was this… feeling of anticipation in the house," she says. "They never told me anything for sure, it was just… a feeling, the way kids sense things. But one night I woke up to the sound of Mom, sobbing. It was the first time I remember seeing her cry like that, and I've never seen anything like it since. Dad was trying to hold her, but she didn't want him. She had blood on her hands and dress… she kept telling him that they shouldn't have done this. That they should never have tried. At the time I didn't understand what was going on…"

Knight purses his lips and doesn't comment. Rorie says finally, "It must have been a miscarriage. After that, Dad sat me down and told me not to ask Mom for a baby sister anymore. That it made her sad. And she was sad. For awhile, things were different between them. And it wasn't long after that, my parents decided to go back to the army."

"And then Trin brought me home."

"Hmm. I think she sees you as the son she could never have."

"And the brother you always wanted?"

"No, I told you, I wanted a sister. And… and you don't _feel_ like a brother, do you? I mean, you're too…" Rorie takes a good, long look at his profile and grasps for a clarity she can't muster. _Something_. "You're too _blonde_ to be my brother, you know?"

"True. And you couldn't be my sister. You're too…" Knight turns and gazes at her properly, searching for something in her face to solidify their argument. It is a face that he knows better than his own, a face that a decade of familiarity has taught him to ignore. But something's different. He shakes his head. "You're too beautiful to be my sister."

Her expression turns blank. "I mean, the female version of me would be a bimbo and we both know it," he elaborates quickly. "The blonde genes don't mix well in the ladies."

Rorie wants to point out that his first comment was about her looks and not her intelligence, but instead she just smiles and shrugs as if to agree. Yes, his sister would be an idiot. They chuckle through a few jokes about Knightilda the Slutty Homecoming Queen (a character that Knight invented himself and resurrects every Halloween, much to everyone's chagrin), but the banter fizzles and soon there is an awkward silence. She says, "So, I guess that settles it. If not siblings, we're friends? By… process of elimination?"

"Can we say good friends?"

"We could say _best_ friends." They both seem more satisfied by that. "And don't worry about Evey, Knight. She'd be… a real fool to let you go."

"Oh, I don't know. I don't… I don't know anything anymore. No, correction. I know _one_ thing. I'm never taking your mother's advice, _ever_ again." Knight waves his hand in the air as if to chase away an irritating thought buzzing around his head. "Romantic compass, my foot."

* * *


	31. CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

* * *

**_The Last Exile, Chapter 24  
Personally, I think he was just jealous of her shoes_ **

* * *

"Trin. Trinity… please, will you let me in?" The One stands at his bedroom door, slumping against the wall. 

"Go away! Go find yourself a _fangirl_! Little whores!"

"They're not… I don't want a… Jesus Christ, Trin, _please_." Neo toys with the handwritten letter in his hands – an alternative to typing, which is impossible, because he has ruined the study's computer with a rather impressive virus. He and Trinity could study the algorithms and appreciate its elegance together, if she'd only forgive him the folly of having created it in the first place. "I have something for you," he says at last. "I'm… I'm going to slip it under the door, okay?"

No answer.

He sighs and feeds the pages through the small crack of space. It's not the first time he has done this. Oh yes, they have been married for a _long_ time. He sees the shadow of her bare feet as she walks over to pick it up. He doesn't hear anything ripping. He doesn't smell anything burning. All good signs.

"It's a… well, it's a fanfiction," he says. "From… your greatest fanboy. Me. It's uhm… it's about that first day. And that first night. In Zion. You remember?"

"Of course I remember," she growls. Pages shuffle. He waits. He waits for a long time, eventually settling onto the floor, back to the door. He props the pillow behind his head and uses the blanket as a sit-upon. He is just nodding off when the pages are pushed back out at him.

No, not only his pages. There are new pages, in her handwriting.

"Corrections," she spits. "Sloppy grammar. _American_ spelling. And… you left some things out."

In fact, she has nearly doubled the original volume of his story. She scribbled into the margins and between the lines, and indicated spaces after paragraphs where her pages of writing should fit. He reads them, and finds himself not only surprised, but excited. Some of her accounts are very detailed, graphic… and yes, he'd forgotten some of this. He calls to her to open the door, but she refuses to answer. Jesus Christ. Is this some kind of punishment, to write him an erotic account of their first shore-leave and then give him the cold shoulder?

But it isn't perfect. Her memories spark more of his. So he sits at the kitchen table and composes some additions, makes some amendments. He sends the pages back. They return to him a short time later, with comments and embellishments. It seems to be a rule that they can't talk aloud. He isn't sure why, but it is not unlike Trinity to invent such a game. He writes down his replies and suggestions, and this is how it goes until morning, until they both agree that it is as complete as they can make it.

Rorie drifts in at breakfast time, giving her father a strange look as he crouches on the floor, pulling paper out from under the door. "I don't want to know," she says as her good morning, limping into her room. Neo makes a mental note to speak to her about those shoes, which look like she took them on a stroll through the lava pits. He isn't much of a fashion guru, but this new modernist trend should have its limits.

_just for us, _reads the page that Trinity passes him. "As a title," she says, finally deciding to speak. "Attach it to the others like a cover."

He gets thread and binds the edges, and puts some coffee on. She unlocks the door and smiles at him. "I think it's very good, for _beginners_."

"Your parts are much better," he concedes, welcoming a reconciliatory kiss. "Some parts that you've written are… _hummmmmm_. And I love what you're wearing. Turn around, let me see you."

Trinity does a three-sixty spin, showing off her choice of clothing. "Still fits."

"Yes, it does." Neo indicates the booklet in his hands. "You know, we need to lock this thing up where nobody will ever find it."

"No," she says. "We need to read it once, together. And then we need to destroy it."

Of course she's right. He pours two cups of coffee and puts together a light breakfast. "Shall we read it in bed, dear?"

"Yes, that might be nice."

"Now?"

"If you like."

The One smiles, knowing she is more eager than she's letting on. He could tease her, but he doesn't want to. He wants to indulge her. He wants to make love with her. "So it's a historical reenactment, hm?"

"An encore."

"Ah. Well, forgive me, I don't think I can manage to be quite as clumsy. I'll try."

"Well, then… some old stuff, some new." She slips her hand into his back pocket as they make their way back to the bedroom. "Speaking of which… did you… mean what you said when you claimed you could do that… _editing_ trick?"

He stops walking. Surely, he is misunderstanding. "I never said I could do it. I asked _Sydney_ if she thought I could do it. And, as I recall, Miss Andrews didn't want to discuss it with me."

"Well... hypothetically speaking, then. _Could_ you do it?"

"_Hypothetically_ speaking… I don't think it would be dangerous to try. If I could find a fangirl who was interested." She looks at him dangerously. "I mean _you_, for God's sake! Don't start!"

She smiles and nods. "Well, if there is a risk of permanent brain damage, it's only prudent to do a few _tests_ first."

"Oh, of course, that goes without saying. I'm bound to turn the first few into sexual vegetables."

"You're only human."

"People make mistakes."

They laugh darkly and clink their coffee mugs together. Trinity grins. "The fangirls may prove useful after all."

* * *

_just for us_

a TriNeo nonfiction by Neo for Trinity, if she'll forgive me  
_beta'd and coauthored by Trinity, who is thinking about it _

-1-

I remember. I remember those last few days on the Neb. I remember they were a disaster – an entire week of disasters, actually. Every hour something went wrong. The pads depolarized. The batteries undervolted. The goddamned gruel froze in its packages. I have this picture of you in my mind – a young Trinity, with the cropped hair and pissed-off expression – hitting your ration bag against the edge of the table. _knock, knock, knock._ And I'll never forget what you said.

You stared at it and said: "That is one hard piece of shit." Niobe inhaled so much coffee she nearly drowned in it.

Then you pulled away the wrapping like a banana peel and licked the goop like a popsickle, and you told Sparks he was a girl for heating his up first. "Let's pull it together, people," you said. "Just one more day."

If I remember right, it took another four days. And every morning, either out of stubbornness or what, I don't know, you sat at the mess table and sucked on your slopsickle, and proudly. I think the cold had gotten to you, too. We were all just barely holding onto our sanity.

There were times when I just couldn't take it. I'd sit in my cabin and cry: cry _tears_. Looking back I guess it was shell shock: one moment I was suicidal, the next I was fine, or better than fine. There was so much to grieve, and so much to look forward to. I don't mean Zion. I was so lost I couldn't see more than ten minutes in front of my face. I mean the next time I could see you. Somehow, we always found the time, didn't we? Young Trinity. Younger Neo. I couldn't keep my hands off you. You remember, don't you? Cold noses. Frozen fingertips. We could see our breath as we kissed… and _kissed_… I made love to you with kisses. Every time, you left me hard. You tortured me, Trinity. I hope you know that.

_Poor, foreverly suffering Neo. Yes, I remember – but if you'll permit my making an amendment here – that 'I tortured you' isn't quite right. I'd rather say that we tortured each other. You were not the innocent, bashful young man you like people to believe you were. I haven't forgotten where your hands were while you kissed me, Neo. I haven't forgotten the first time you cupped my breasts in your palms – the first time your thumbs rubbed circles over my nipples. We were in the engine room that time – do you remember? What about the first time you slid a pair of nervous fingers under the waistband of my trousers? This happened when we shared a bed, trying to get warm enough to sleep. You'd spooned up behind me, and even through two layers of thick clothing I could tell you were excited- Poor Neo. I remember your lips were on the back on my neck – those damnably soft lips – and our legs tangled together. I unbuttoned my pants and took your hand. I wanted you to know how wet I was. I know you remember this part as vividly as I do- how you touched everything for the first time. You had no words, and no purpose except to touch. "Just touch me," is what I said. "Just relax, breathe, and touch." It was one of the most erotic moments of my life. _

_What you don't know, what I never told you, is that after you fell asleep, and I was absolutely sure you were asleep, I snuggled up close and, as subtly as possible, finished what you began. It didn't take long, and - oh, Neo- it was wonderful. In fact, I've done it many times since, in your arms, surreptitiously. I'm not sure why I'm telling you now… it kinda takes the fun out of it, actually… _

What! WHAT? TRINITY! You open this door right now! You can't write something like that and lock me out of the bedroom! That's it. I'm going to get the crowbar.

_It's in here. (Don't ask me why) _

Shit. Why won't you talk to me?

_This is fun. And anyway- I'm still mad at you. _

That knocking you hear is the sound of my forehead pounding against the table.

_Mmm. You know what else? As I write this, I'm lying on top of the covers, completely naked._

You push me too far. Sooner or later, Trinity, this door will open. You'll get hungry. The emergency ration of booze we keep under the bed will run out and you'll get thirsty. And when that glorious hour of reckoning is upon you, my wretched, naughty little wife, MASTER NEO will be waiting to teach his sorry slave a thing or two about SELF-DISCIPLINE!

PS: With your next note, could you please include an antacid tablet? Master Neo still has a touch of knightly indigestion… please, sweetness?

* * *

_**Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199.  
**_

Young Trinity traps Poor, Younger Neo's tongue between her teeth, squeezing just enough to bring out a gasp of surprise. "I said…" her fingernails scratch five lines down his chest, under his sweater. "_No_."

She makes another half-hearted attempt to get away, but he has her pushed against the wall. Trinity throws her arms up in mock futility, and he catches them and pins her wrists above her head. "Do I have to _tie_ you down?" he breathes. "Stop giving me a hard time."

They kiss savagely, without time or space. Well, he kisses, she bites, predictably enough. It is half passion, half genuine reproach – she nips as if to scream, you have no _self-discipline_! Neo laughs. He can't help it. She's just so… _tasty_. The sound of his chuckling echoes down the corridor.

It's cold and dark; the metal is freezing on her back. His body is warm and soft on her front. A solitary lamp flickers above her head. They wrestle in an uncertain configuration of arms and legs, desperate to get closer. When he hits the right spot, a careful rhythm emerges in their movement. Each is certain the other started it. Her hands move from his waist to his buttocks – those two sweet, innocently rounded cheeks– and guides, or follows, his tentative dip-and-push, squeezing at each electrifying apex. "_Um-hum_," she whispers, the intonation like a question. "_Um-hum_?"

Neo shuts his eyes and moans back an agreement. Yes. Please. _Don't stop. _

They are lost, though neither knows how or when it happened. He can taste the dirt and sweat on her skin, and feel the exhaustion in her body. His poor Trinity. He kisses her furrowed brow and eyelids. He wraps his arms around her and eliminates every millimeter of separation. Their friction increases, the angle is perfect – she makes a sound into his neck. Everything tingles. Everything shines. She cries out, _Neo!_

"You like that?" It's purely rhetorical, a gruff taunt into her mouth. "Hum?"

"Neo… stop."

"Oh, God _why_?" – nevermind that- "… _how_?"

"_Neo, please_."

He opens his eyes, and the initial shock gives way to a moment of confusion. Her face is twisted in pain as she pushes his stomach away. Oh, no. _The stitches_. He must be the stupidest man alive. "Shit. Trin… I'm _so_ sorry."

"No. 'M okay." She breathes hard, lips deep red, and her eyes sparkle as she cups his cheek kisses him gently, forgivingly. "It's okay."

"I hurt you."

"No you didn't."

"_Trin_…" They are running their hands over each other, dangerously close to starting again. "I don't want to… I can't do anything to hurt you. But… oh, if I can't touch you-"

"Don't worry," she interrupts, meeting his eyes. "We'll make it work. I can be _very_… creative. Yes?"

It isn't his fault. Eons of evolutionary fine-tuning have pre-wired his response to a hormonal grunt of enthusiasm. He means to say, _I love you _as they crash together again. But it isn't a choice. There is no way out, not that they'd want one. They are snared in an exquisite biological trap, designed for its own pleasure and perpetuation, a conspiracy of organic matter that wants it to be easy, wants him to like it, wants her to like it, and drugs them into adoring each other. Lovemaking is a benevolent place, a welcoming place – as unique a medium from reality as water is from air, or space from atmosphere. The laws of physics are different here, where they are. Time slows to a standstill; his body floats; he holds his breath. There are men who have risked their lives to walk on the moon, climb Everest, or dive to the bottom of the ocean. In many ways, he has traveled farther and further to be with Trinity.

"I came to tell you the city is less than an hour away," she says. "I need to help Morpheus navigate our approach, and I'd like you to watch… try to pick up the basics."

"Less than an hour?" Neo asks, surprised. He's become so used to indefinite setbacks, he'd never considered the possibility of actually arriving. "Wow."

"Excited?"

"Well… _yes_."

"I meant about reaching Zion."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

She folds her arms and arches a sharp eyebrow. "The last hope of humanity and he makes jokes. _You_ of all people…" but Trinity stops herself, whispering an apology under her breath. "Listen," she begins again, "I've been meaning to ask you… lodging and records will assign you your own place in the city. But these little apartments are never very nice. It's up to you, but you're welcome to stay with me as long as you-"

"_Yes_."

She puts her finger to his lips. "As long as you don't make a mess."

"Me?" He smiles and takes her finger into his mouth to nibble at the first knuckle. "_Never_."

"You know… I think that will be our first fight."

"Huh?" He moves on to kissing her fingertips, one by one.

"It's just a feeling. It's an argument waiting to happen."

"Never. I could _never_ fight with you. You're too beautiful. You're too perfect."

"I'm neurotic. And you're a slob."

"It's a match made in heaven. I can make a mess, and you can clean up. You see? Then we're _both_ happy." He presses his lips to her palm, and tickles the center with his tongue. "You know I love to watch you… fold… things. And put them into… drawers and… stuff. Turns me on. Always has."

It is another few minutes before they leave for the cockpit. Apparently, Trin kinda _likes_ that he likes to watch her fold. And he likes that she likes that he likes it. It was their first little game, a sample of the havoc IRS-D Base Trinity played in poor Tom Anderson's life. She even flirted darkly, naughty thing that she was, wooing her prey with a rich blend of terror, cake and good housekeeping. Is it any wonder he can't resist her?

"Neo, come _on_," she eventually says into his neck, as if the play were one-sided. Her breath gives him goose-bumps. "I want to get started on our approach. And brace yourself, the dock is… _quite a sight_ for a newcomer…"

* * *

Excuse me? Can I squeeze a comment into the margin? I think your memory is failing you, Trin: _I could never fight with you? You're too perfect? _No, I don't remember saying that. I think we should take that part out, or at least add a footnote that it's a disputed fact. 

_Trust me, you said it. It just doesn't sound right because you have since developed a delusion of grandeur that keeps you from the simple enough truth: I am perfect. _

What you call delusion of grandeur, I call a spine. When it came to you, Younger Neo never had one, the poor lovesick fool. And, I'd like to remind Ms. Perfection that in any case, she was mistaken. Our first fight had nothing to do with a messy bedroom and we both know that was entirely your fault.

_How dare you bring that up after tonight's little internet dalliance! It was TWENTY YEARS ago. _

I'm just saying, I'm still waiting for an apology.

_Goodnight, Neo. Enjoy the couch. Hopefully, Knight's date went well and you won't have to share it with him. _

He isn't on a date. He's with Rorie. They're drinking on the Neb.

_What! And after he bothered me for advice and I gave him specific instructions…! He's with Rorie?_

Yeah, she just called home, a little lightheaded (you know how she gets). Knight must be coaching her, though. Nothing over four syllables this time. Remember, "I'll be home at an _indeterminateable_ hour"?

_She gets that low tolerance from you. It's a family embarrassment. – But you're sure she's okay, Neo? _

She's fine. Rorie's old enough to have a little fun. I pretended I didn't notice and told her to stay with Knight - better him than some guy who's after her. By the way, I've been meaning to ask, you think he might be gay?

_What kind of question is that? Of course not! What the hell is wrong with you, Neo? _

Well, there's the cross-dressing at Halloween… then yesterday, Rorie finds a romance novel in his room and he starts coming-on to me at the dinner table… telling me I'm hot and quoting that book… it really wasn't cool. Men have a code. He doesn't follow the code.

_He said I was hot. He said you were "pretty decent." Get over yourself – not everyone in this sick, twisted city wants to have sex with you._

He winked at me. I saw it. I'm telling you, he's been acting strange lately, with all these girls, left, right and center. He's overcompensating, or something else is up. _Your_ Knight is not himself, my dear.

_Knight is straight. It's _Your_ Rorie who's been acting weird. Have you seen those shoes? I'd ask her when she's leaving for the Emerald City if I thought she'd have a clue what I'm talking about. _

I assumed she got the ruby slippers from Knightilda, the Good and Glittery Witch of the North.

_Oh, shut up. _

Hey, you want half of my sandwich? I'll have to squish it a bit.

_What kind?_

Mystery dish from the back of the fridge inside a flatbread. Tastes a little iffy, but what meal of yours doesn't?

_Yeah, what the hell, send it over._

* * *


	32. CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

* * *

**The Last Exile, Chapter 25  
****It's paper bag princess, with a touch of skin cancer**

* * *

My first impression of Zion was that it was everything you said it would be, and a great deal more. It was huge, hot, crowded, noisy, filthy, claustrophobic, impoverished, beautiful, exotic, proud, desperate, hostile, sad, hopeful, and a gigantic headache that has lasted for about twenty years, but hey, there's no place like home. 

My second impression of this city was that it really didn't like me very much. I remember I said this to you once before, and you shrugged and offered by way of explanation, that's because people have seen you dance at Temple gatherings. I have to be honest with you, Trin. That hurt my feelings. In a place where over half the population deals in computers, I expected a little more empathy.

I like to think that Zion and I got off on the wrong foot, that's all. It didn't help that I arrived on a ship carrying the bodies of five war heroes, or that I hadn't a clue of how to behave at the docking ceremony. I was interrogated, poked and prodded by councilmen looking for a scapegoat-slash-Messiah, bullied by the local believers, arrested, cuffed, read my rights, fingerprinted and given a public defender who checked my reflexes and recommended I plead insanity. A guy in the next cell called me Alice, and wanted to know, would I like to follow his white rabbit?

That being said, Trin, those first twenty-four hours in the last human city were some of the best in my life. You were beautiful, I remember that. I remember thinking, yours were the sexiest rags in all of Zion. It's an art: nobody pulls off the aesthetic of a nuclear holocaust quite like you. Do you still have that dress?

_It was a halter top and ankle-length sheer skirt. Yes, I still have it. _

Put it on. I want you wearing it as I write the rest of this.

_Yes, Master Neo. Alright, I'm in costume. You may proceed. _

Seriously? Shit, Trin. I didn't think you'd actually do it.

_Surprise_.

Now I can hardly concentrate. Where was I?

_You were taking, Nothing but Shit from Zion for five-hunded, but you didn't have a clue. Allow me_: _When released from Councilman Hamman's chambers, this Zionist Savior got lost on his way to the elevators... _

Who is Neo. Who is Poor, Younger Neo.

* * *

_**  
Zion. Circa 2199**_

A saying goes, the journey into Zion's epicenter is like being swallowed by one hundred giant, red serpents. Anyone can see why. The mouths of the outer caves open like jaws, with stalactite canines and stalagmite incisors, some of which meet to form pillars of calcium carbonate – strings of rocky discharge from the salivating beasts. Dusty, rolling tongue. Sulfurous breath. Long, meandering gut, lit with bare-bulbed lamps, carelessly screwed into the rock. This isn't what Neo expected at all.

The rusty earth that surrounds him, the aragonite crystals which web like giant snowflakes above his head, the crude iron catwalks all seem more native to a Martian landscape than the center of the earth. Tunnels wend and knot like the confluence in an ant colony, rather than the organized, concrete hallways he'd expected from a wartime shelter. Trinity was right when she said it was beautiful. And yet he can begin to understand why she has never felt at home here. Theirs is another culture, another century entirely – here, even the blanched pallor of his skin seems out of place.

These are the first moments of solitude Neo has encountered since the Neb docked six or seven or eight hours ago, and the silence is welcome. He walks slowly, in an awe-filled somnambulance, taking in the startling geological formations dissolved out of limestone and acidic water – things with names like bottlebrushes and popcorn, showerheads and soda straws – designations too defiantly logical to be credible scientific lingo. Better to call them something nobody could ever remember or pronounce. Then, people would appreciate the centuries of chemical gardening it takes the planet to grow them, or at least the five-to-ten years it takes planetary science scholars to earn their PhDs.

The wonders of this mineralogical womb are lost on Neo, and will remain a mystery until his daughter takes it upon herself to alleviate his ignorance, fifteen years later. He is here completely by accident and without any idea how to get out, though he has not yet admitted that he is lost. Quite simply, to be lost would be too cruel. Too unfair. The universe couldn't possibly allow it. So he trudges on in denial, trusting in fate, praying for a change in his luck that he knows will not come.

The councilmen's interviews _– the official inquiries-_ were nightmarish. The ceremony at the dock was wrenching, even to one who did not know the deceased – the forced composure of families and orderly arrangement of soldiers filled the sterile dome of giant machines with pulsing human warmth. He uncertainly took Trinity's hand, which she discreetly clasped throughout, keeping her expression poised in the kind of neutrality he recognized from many of their first encounters. She was somewhere else, detached from the moment, barely existing at all. He knew only because he'd seen her at the other extreme – he knew how deeply she could feel. But it was their secret, and she kept it well. She folded five flags striped in a pattern he'd never seen before and handed them to people who mirrored her solemnity with much less success. He sensed she was resented for her composure, or maybe for something else, for surviving at all, for holding his hand, for refusing the honor of wrapping the bodies after she'd been forced to live with them for the past ten days. "You can't expect people to understand," she said to him after an old woman was removed from the crowd for screaming that Morpheus is a murderer, and should be hung for treason. "They don't know what it's like out there. All they know, is that we're losing."

But Neo can't find it in his heart to be as forgiving. Where was their warm welcome home? Where was the gratitude for their labors? Where, at the very lest, was his map and visitor's guide?

There are no signs, no street names in this strange place. There is nothing that might help a lost traveler. It is an affront on all pod-borns, and more specifically, to him. The circumambient natural beauty does nothing to soften the insult. He grumbles audibly and glances down at the directions she'd scrawled onto his palm – _level 300, no. 393. Left from the west quarter elevators – see you soon. T._

The promise of love does something to alleviate his mood, if only a little. How endearing that she felt the need to _sign_ the note she'd written on his hand. Another assertion of ownership, he likes to think. He remembers, she hesitated before quickly adding the capital letter and period, and then flickered an ironic smile as her parting goodbye. After an eternity of enduring the interviews together, a few unsatisfied councilors had requested a private audience with him. Neo actually considered saying no, but after being told by a chamber page in no uncertain terms that he did not have a _choice _in the matter, he agreed. Trinity decided to take the opportunity to pay her personal respects to Dozer's wife and sister. "I'll see you at home," she said. The soft word with its warm sound and rounded vowel pulled at the corners of his lip. "That is, if they ever let you go."

Indeed. By the second hour, he was ready to start taking hostages. At one point, he attempted telepathy to move the questions along. _Beautiful. Woman. Waiting. At home. Can't you see the note on my hand? She wants me, for God's sake! _

And then what did he do when he was finally given his freedom? Well, he felt like running, clapping, prancing, leaping… and rather than pay attention to where he was going, he was thinking of what he was going to do when he got there. Now, every tunnel looks like the one before it, and he can't remember enough to go back the way he came. Yes, okay – he _is_ lost, and Trinity isn't going to believe this. But he is jumping ahead; there must be someone he can ask.

It is with great relief that he hears voices echoing from some distance ahead. He wipes his hand on his trousers and memorizes the address, not wanting to show strangers what he considers a _private_ message. Still carrying his duffle, Neo hurries ahead, coming to the mouth of a huge hollow space, lit by candles cupped in glossy conulites. He continues to walk with his head arched up, then, wanting to appear local, he adopts an air of easy indifference. He sets his bag aside and put his hands in his pockets. Two men are standing in a huddle, the din of their conversation lost to the vacuous space.

"Excuse me?" he ventures in a tone he hopes isn't too forlorn. "I'm sorry to bother you. I uhm…" he forces a careless chuckle, "I think I took a wrong turn or something."

The one on the right – the second to turn around and acknowledge his question, is tall, double-chinned, and inhumanly hairy. Distracting puffs of brittle hair escape from his ears and nostrils – it's curly and black, like pubic hair. The poor man has pubic hair growing out of his nose! Neo forces himself not to smile as the man folds his ape-like arms across his chest – Neo notes he is free-born like the other – and looks him over with something like surprise and distaste. "I should say so, _officer_," he says, with an accent and intonation that makes Neo wonder if he isn't drunk, or mentally handicapped. "A long way from the dock, oi?"

Both men frown and stare at his boots as if they'd never seen a pair of shoes before. Neo sees they are barefoot. Will they rob him? He never considered that the city might be dangerous. "I was looking for the elevators," he explains, glancing behind him at his things. "If you guys could just point me in the right direction, I'll be on my way…"

But they are already having a conversation amongst themselves. Pubic Hair nods and pivots to stand between Neo and the exit, while the other keeps him from turning in the other direction. "You people have a lot of clout, cumin' down here, disrespectin' _real_ men like us," he says. "What, you jus' walkin' though, then, oi? Thought you'd take a stroll, oi?"

"He needs directions," the other one sneers, light-haired and freckled with nearly fluorescent eyes, like those of a marmalade cat, which seem to vibrate with some kind of nervous energy. His hair is an offensive orange, complimenting his aggressive, hyperactive manner. "You know, I'd _love_ to give a hybrid like you direction. Tell you _exactly_ where to go-"

"Back to the pod he oozed out of. We'll pulp the half-breed first, then send him back to his makers, oi."

Neo holds his hands up and takes a step back. "Hey, whoa. Take it easy."

"He wants us to take it easy," the carrot-top echoes, as if Neo were speaking a foreign language that required an interpreter. "Metal man doesn't want us to test his meal."

Neo realizes he is outnumbered, and very close to being beaten senseless. Trying to remain clam, he glances around for any witnesses, but they are alone. Impossible that this is happening to him. Impossible! He fights back a wave of anger, knowing this will solve nothing. Is this new-world racism? Would they dare speak this way to Trinity? He'd kill them. "Look," he begins reasonably, "I'm sorry if I've said something to offend you. It wasn't my intention."

"He's sorry," comes the translation. "He didn't intend to."

He is wasting his time trying to talk to them. Without succumbing to running, Neo turns, takes his luggage, then chooses the closest tunnel to make his escape. He ignores the shouts that try to goad him back to the conflict. His eyes close tight as he marches. Just let them leave him alone. He just wants to be left alone. Only now does he realize how close he is to his breaking point. Only now does the exhaustion weigh down on his shoulders and the full frustration of the day gnaw at his nerves. He is very close. Let them just leave him alone.

When a hand grips his shoulder roughly, Neo hears his bag hit the ground before he realizes he's dropped it. He forms a fist and swings, seeing nothing but white as the pain of impact shoots from his knuckles to the front of his brain. The surprised cry of his victim echoes through the Temple.

* * *

Three hundred levels up, Trinity is not pleased at all. With a frown, she surveys the categorized piles of clothing and personal effects on her bed. For the third time in an hour, she is attempting a proper filing system that will leave half of her storage space free to accommodate Neo. She doesn't like her things to look crowded. More than three sweaters or pants per drawer tend to interfere with a nice, smooth snap close. Never mind the problems that are bound to arise when trying to open again. And what about the computer desk? She hadn't considered that he'd be using her computer desk. With a shudder, Trinity imagines dishes, clothing… disks askew in their holders, in the wrong holders, or perhaps even left _out_ of the holders. To ban him from that half of the room is an option she can only entertain seriously for a few seconds. She told him he was welcome. But at that moment, his chaotic living habits were the furthest thing from her mind. Trinity aggressively bites at a hang-nail on her pinky. Maybe a chore list would help. 

When the phone rings, she jumps, and considers letting the machine pick up. She has many things to do before Neo arrives, namely- her unmentionables are still strewn across the bed, and she isn't keen on his seeing them without the benefit of her careful modeling, in the right light. But it occurs to her that the caller may be Morpheus with an update on how the investigation is progressing, or (more likely) not progressing. They will be keeping Neo another hour. They are taking blood samples. They want to question him under hypnosis. They are attempting a Vulcan mind-meld.

But the true nature of the phone call proves to be worse. No, not worse. Impossible. Impossible this is happening to her tonight! She walks briskly down the catwalk and slides her arm through a closing elevator door, ignoring protests from the other side as she yanks it open. Her finger stabs at the bottom button: the brig. She has been _summoned_.

Reminds her of her Academy days. But never mind. _This time_, she hasn't done anything wrong. What could they possibly want with her _tonight_?

It is a short journey down and a brief walk to meet a peacekeeper at the _Law Enforcement and Corrections_ center entrance. She knows him by name. Annik is a kind, handsome man with a cheerful disposition, and highly respected for keeping the peace in some of the rougher neighborhoods. She locked herself out of her apartment once, long ago when she lived on the lower east arc, and he sat with her outside as they waited for the locksmith. She remembers he told her she was too pretty to be left alone, and when she challenged him to arm-wrestling to preserve her dignity, he let her win. Despite this, she liked him.

"God, what the hell happened to you?" she asks, wincing at the blue swell surrounding his left eye. She offers her hand. "You look almost as lousy as I do."

"I heard about your loss. I'm so sorry to call you at home, lieutenant."

"Jesus, call me Trin." They shake. "And thank you. You need me to help you dress that? It looks fresh."

"Actually, this is what you're here about." He brushes a hand on her back and leads her inside, speaking low. "Got a left hook in the face from a guy who claims he knows you. The others are ready to lock him up for the night, but I wanted to check with you first. I found him wearing boots in the Temple without ID or even a registry number."

Trinity resists the urge to slap her hand to her forehead. "Oh, no." She doesn't want to ask. She doesn't want to know. "And the name?"

"Neo. Again, _apparently_. Sounds phony to me."

"He _hit_ you?"

"Claims it was an accident. Says he thought I was some guy who was harassing him, but I didn't see anyone matching his… colorful descriptions. You wanna confirm the ID?"

"Yes. I know him. Annik, I'm so sorry. It's his first day in the city. He hasn't gone though registry yet."

"That's what he said, but it didn't seem plausible. I mean, he's… well, he's no spring chicken, is he?"

Her lip curls at his awkward attempt to use matrix-borne lingo for her benefit. "Yes, he's unusually old. Again, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have left him alone."

They arrive at a line of barred detention rooms, and Trinity spots Neo from the corner of her eye, pacing in a cell near the end of the row. Annik follows her gaze before their eyes meet again. "He's been though a lot," she says. "Believe me. He'd never hit you intentionally."

The officer considers this and nods. He looks tired, older than she remembers. "Well, I'm willing to let the infraction regarding his shoes in the Temple go with a warning. And as for this-" he indicates his eye- "I've had worse after twenty years down here. So, if _you_ say he's okay…"

She could kiss him. With tongue and everything. "Thank you. I won't forget this."

"We have enough problems down here without the bother of filing another petty crime. And without ID, his paperwork would be a pain. Damn bureaucracy. See that you get that done, by the way."

"First thing tomorrow. I'll have him collared."

"And housebroken? He _says_ he lives with you." Annik unlocks the iron gate and holds it open for her. "Settling down, lieutenant? Or just taking in strays?"

"It had to happen eventually, right?"

"I had my doubts, after you turned me down, _repeatedly_."

She grins at their usual banter and shakes her head. "And how is your wife?"

"She's wonderful. A little sad. Last of the kids have moved out. Emerald, our youngest, was just accepted to intern on the Osiris. She's very excited."

He reaches out and holds Trinity's shoulder. "Do me a favor- you two take care of each other. Nothing else matters these days, you know? Everything else… it's nonsense."

Trinity catches Neo's eye for the first time, and he looks away instantly, resting his head on the bars. The poor thing. She thinks of a lost puppy imprisoned in a pound- what was that movie from her childhood? _Lady and the Tramp._ But that would make her the street-smart Tramp, and Neo the prissy, brown-eyed Lady. She makes a mental note to run that theory by him later, when they can laugh about this, though that may not be for awhile. He is miserable as he is escorted out of the kennel, ignoring catcalls from rowdy inmates, shoulders slumped and stare cast down.

"Are you okay?" she asks him some time later when they are leaving, a hand on his shoulder. As they stand outside in the busy avenue, he glances at her wearily – _I've been a hell of a lot better _– and then seems to notice something, looking her over top to bottom, once, then again. She is freshly showered, clad in Zionist clothing.

"Wow."

Trinity can't suppress a smile. "Yeah?"

"You're beautiful." He steps closer as people flow around them. "And I'm not just saying that because I was in prison."

"Neo-"

"I'm so sorry about all this."

"It wasn't your fault." In fact, she doesn't know what happened, but she isn't inclined to push him for an explanation. If anything, the story is bound to irritate her "Come on, let's walk a little."

Neo weaves their fingers together, and for the second time that day, Trinity battles with the impulse to pull herself free. The avenue is crowded; people can _see_ them – they receive a few passing glances, and one or two grins. Her cheeks burn and she fights to keep a smile off her face. Maybe it's embarrassment, or maybe she's just happy – either way, it seems like an important moment, and she decides to commit it to memory. After all, it may not be long before they will be unable to do this without Neo's being recognized.

After ten minutes or so, he puts his arm around her shoulder and kisses the top of her head. They are passing by a largely unused entrance to the Temple, away from the bustle of commuters.

"Would you like a tour?" she asks. "Some of the smaller grottos are really beautiful if you know where to look."

"Oh, I don't… I don't think so." He glances inside uncertainly. "I think I've angered the '_Temple God_,' whoever he is… I'm probably _banned_ or something. Expect to see my mug-shot by the door by tomorrow."

Trinity smiles – she nearly laughs. He asks her what's so funny, and she isn't sure whether or not to tell him. But he will find out sooner or later, so it might as well be now. "Neo, these days, people go to the Temple for all sorts of reasons," she explains. "It's become a public meeting place, and a symbol of our community, our resistance. But _primarily_, people go there to pray for The One. It is said that it was built one hundred years ago, in anticipation of his return."

"It's _my_ temple?" He says it so ironically she chuckles, and studies his face for any sign of his being overwhelmed, as she certainly would be. But he is smirking. "They arrested me for wearing boots in _my_ temple?" he poses to the air, shaking his head. "Well, that's very nice."

"We remove our shoes as a symbol of our connection with the earth and stone that protects us. It's wonderful to feel the ground on your feet…" She scrunches down and presses her hand to the orange dirt. "It's warm – the lava springs course underneath."

He is already pulling his laces free and yanking his boots off. "My temple has _lava springs_?" Now eager, he removes his worn and tattered socks, and steps barefoot onto the ground. He smiles broadly- for the first time since they docked. "_Whoa_."

Trinity slides an arm around his waist. "There's more, if you'd like to see it."

"Alright, a _brief_ tour." He talks into her hair. "Then _home_, right?"

"Hmm." Trinity half-consciously digs into his shirt with her fingernails, bunching the sweater in her hand, but resists the urge to drag him into the elevator and run with him to her cabin. The city she has come to resent looks different with his arm around her shoulders, with his voice rumbling softly from above- it's romantic somehow, and she is afraid that if she wastes the opportunity, it will never come again.

She brushes her lips against his earlobe. "We have all night," she rasps, speaking to them both, teasing them both. "Just think of that. Think of it _constantly_." She hums and arches her back as he brushes her, as if by accident, along the side of her breast. "Not now. _Soon_," she promises, the earthy heat prickling under her feet. "Once we've made a few memories for you that don't include handcuffs and a detention cell."

"_Trinity_-" he kisses her lips and tightens his grip- "…do you have _any_ idea….?"

"Shh, I know." Golden candlelight glows like molten steel from the candles which light their path. "Don't worry," she whispers. "There's time."

* * *


	33. CHAPTER TWENTYSIX

* * *

**_The Last Exile, Chapter 26_  
****_TriNeo – just for them, and of course, all of us_**

* * *

Firelight moves in aquatic waves of orange, turquoise and aubergine as it refracts through gemstones, as Trinity holds the candle at different angles for different effects, telling him that _this_ is how The One should remember the Temple. You see all the colors? Citrine rays ripple over her skin as she navigates through the underground maze, and he kisses her as they stand against a limestone shield. She is wearing some kind of perfume, earthy and piquant like ginger. Neo can't wrap his head around it – the scent fogs his thinking, like a spell. He isn't so sure it isn't- and he asks her, are you a witch? She nods an affirmative. Are you a good witch, or a bad witch, Trin? 

I'm the devil herself, comes her reply. And God help him, even if it were true, and she ruled all of hell from a thrown of flame and bone, it wouldn't make one damn bit of difference.

He discovers that he loves to talk to her; he loves the occasional crackle or pop from her end, like birch bark in a fire - a pithy comment, a sharp look, an introspective hum. He tells her about his private audiences with the councilors, exaggerating his satirical observations to make her laugh. The story of his incarceration follows seamlessly, beginning with his getting lost and ending with his fiasco at the corrections bureau. Then Trinity grins a little too widely. What's so funny? Oh… nothing. It's nothing. A silly thing. Never mind.

But Neo isn't about to let her off the hook. It is the word _silly_ that gets to him- he wants to hear the Witch say something silly… _Please_? She seems to struggle with it. _Pretty_ _please_? So she finally gives in- Alight, fine, but you asked for this. Have you ever seen Lady and the Tramp? _What? _Because, you kind of remind me of Lady. _Excuse me?_ You know, don't pretend like you don't know. Lady, with the big brown eyes. All sad…and lonely… lying with her muzzle between the bars, whimpering as she despondently waits for the gallant hero to rescue her – (and here she pouts a little to illustrate canine woe).

Neo waits for her to whine, which she doesn't.

"As I recall, Trin, the _hero_ would be the mangy, flea-ridden Tramp."

"Yes, well…" -she looks off and scratches behind her ear- "so the parallel isn't _perfect_."

They walk hand in hand, having left the Temple and stopped by a street vender to share a late supper of something called _Squiddie Fingers_. Trinity explains the peasant delicacy as a loaf of fried bread hollowed out and stuffed with nuts, seeds, curry and something else that 'is like tofu, but it isn't really tofu.' He tells her that the only thing worse than tofu is something that is 'like tofu.' She chuckles, and seems to enjoy watching him tentatively sniff the stuff before taking a bite. Surprisingly, it isn't bad. Even more of a shock, he can't stop eating it. When was the last time he ate? They share four helpings, for which Trinity will only pay for three. She claims the bread is stale. Is there any other kind, asks the merchant? Yes, she replies, the kind that isn't stale. The man, who is pleasant enough with a pitiful, apologetic look, points out two urchins playing around his feet. Not for me, he says, for _them_, my poor children… I'm all they have. Trinity cynically raises an eyebrow and speaks to the older of the two kids, a gaunt girl of no more than twelve.

"You there," she speaks directly, commanding the child's attention from a drawing she had been sketching in the dirt. "Do you know this man?" The girl shrugs. "Well, either you do or you don't," reasons Trinity. "Which is it, and don't lie to me."

So she thinks about it, looking from Trinity to the vender and back again. "He pays us two and ten a day to play here and look pathetic," the girl says. "Or, he's _supposed_ to, the thief. We would tell the cops if we weren't thieves ourselves."

Trinity folds her arms and glares at the accused. He dismisses her judgment with a flippant gesture and a _pppfft_ sound, already unhinging his cart and moving on. "Useless beggars," he mumbles, shaking his head. "See if you do any better on your own."

The girl says that her name is Aurora. Her brother is Fie, and he's terribly shy, and a little stupid, so don't even bother with him. It's very nice to meet you, strangers… and might they have a bite to eat? After all, they are out a day's wages and will have to find other employment tomorrow – she hints that her father will be displeased. Trinity nods and hands over the rest of her stale sandwich (Neo is embarrassed to have already finished his). "You two are from the Other World," Aurora observes as she breaks the bread in two and gives her brother the smaller half. "You're from a ship."

"Yes."

"I know all about such things," the girl claims, tossing back a handful of her hair, which is wound between colored beads and ribbons. "I know everything about people like you."

"Oh?" Trinity seems amused. "What do you know?"

"I know that you aren't a real human. You have those things on your arms and back because the machines spawned you from devil's magic. The machines used evil potions from the blood of dead soldiers to make you. And they'll damn me with the same curse if I'm not good and say my prayers.

"I also know that you are very powerful, you must be, to have escaped from the Dreamlands. You get your powers from the soul that grew inside you when The One's tears fell on the fields, one hundred years ago. When He died, His spirit cried, and you were lucky, because a tear fell on your head, and grew you a soul, and that's what you do all day. You fly around on that ship of yours and look for others who have a soul, too." The girl finishes her speech by taking a bite of her bread and adding matter-of-factly, "But, I'm not afraid of you."

"Maybe you should be," Trinity says. "I am _cursed_ after all."

"Oh, you are, you _are_," Aurora says, nodding gravely. "You will be until He comes back."

"Who?"

"The _One_." Aurora is becoming impatient, having to educate this woman on the sate of her own soul. Fie reaches for the last bites of her uneaten sandwich, which she holds up out of his reach without paying much mind. "It's common sense. The One is the guy who put the soul in you (even if it was just an accident), and so only His tears will liberate it again. When he returns to save us all… and, I suppose if you ask him nicely, he'll save you, too. I hope he does. I like you."

Neo can tell from Trinity's expression she has heard this myth before. They share a look, a private, ironic sort of smile, and she winks. "Alright, that'll do. Take your brother now, and go home. It's getting late."

"I'll do as I like, thank you very much."

"Ror-ie! Cummon!" Fie complains, finally making a sound. "We shouldn't be talking to them! She might magik us with Other World curses."

"Your brother is a coward," Trinity says. "But in this case, he's right." And at this moment she bends down and shows Aurora two empty palms before pulling a pair of silver coins from behind the girl's lobes –"I am magic."

"These are carnival tricks, not Other Worlder magic!" Aurora grins ear to ear as she gingerly takes the money, looking along Trinity's bare arms in puzzlement. "I'm not that naïve!"

"Then you know that I can make them disappear just as fast."

"No! That is to say… thank you, Auntie." The girl stares at her, still on bended knee, and scrunches her sharp little features as if struggling very hard with an important decision. Then she takes Trinity into a tight hug, nearly choking her, nearly knocking her over. It's adorable in its own way, hilarious more because of Trinity's reaction. She goes completely rigid, which does nothing to help her regain her balance.

Neo looks up and sees the city column. Main power has been shut off, and the railings, bridges, and catwalks have faded against the twinkling lamps above doorsteps and along avenues, until all that remains is velvet and silver. Trinity is rising to her feet, looking more than a little uncomfortable. She hadn't expected the child to touch her, and doesn't appear too sorry to see the pair of them go. Though, Neo notices she keeps them in her sight until they board the elevator. She says something about how the kids should be in school, and the council should be doing a better job of imposing education on the young ones. The parents should be fined, and that vender should be ashamed.

But Neo isn't completely listening – he is still looking up at the Zionist twilight. It is beautiful, titanic, humbling – but this is _all_ there is of the Last Human City. The magnitude and finality of it hit him simultaneously, as he hears the girl's voice in his mind. Her innocent belief in spiritual absolution strikes a dissonant chord. The idea that he should be responsible for Trinity's soul (or anyone else's for that matter) is utterly ridiculous. If anything, it is the other way around, and she has saved _him_. _She_ is the strong one. Could this entire city really be his responsibility to preserve – within his power to save, or to lose? It doesn't seem possible. He hopes it is all a mistake. He hasn't the first idea of where and how to start. What do people pray for in the Temple? And if he were really The One they worship, shouldn't he be able to hear them, somehow?

"Neo. Come back," Trinity says, a cool hand on his cheek. "Come back to me."

He finds her eyes, but he has lost his words – the conversation dissolves. Everything feels different after that, when reality weighs down on their shoulders, when they look around, seemingly for the first time, and see that the streets are nearly empty. "Tomorrow," she says. "We'll sort everything out tomorrow. Just… let's go home."

"Home?"

"It _will_ be home," she says. "We'll make it home. I promise."

* * *

_I remember thinking she had a beautiful name. You'll think I'm inventing things, but I thought that night, that if I was ever a mother, I might like to call my daughter Aurora. I would see her again not long after, but how was I to know that? Her face haunts me now. I never told you, but hers was the first body I pulled from the rubble when we started working for the reconstruction effort – killed in the earthquakes caused by the drilling. I'm not sure why, but I never got over it. There was something about her. I should tell Rorie about it, if she wants to know for that book she's writing. Maybe she'll have better luck sifting through the registry. You see, I never knew what happened to her brother- I asked around, but his body was one of those never found. _

_And she was lying about her father – she had no parents who'd claim her- records show she took her brother and ran away form the orphanage two years prior. That's all the information I could find. _

And that was it, wasn't it?

_Yes, that was it. I was troubled to see her get onto the elevator; I considered walking her home, but decided against it. And when I looked at you, I knew it was time. It was time for us. We had waited long enough – too long. __It was as if I had already seen it all happen, everything had been decided and played out, and all I had to do was drift with it – providence. I surrendered myself to it. _

_We began our lovemaking before even arriving home – the avenues were dark that night, and the elevator was much, much too slow… _

* * *

The lights flicker and the lift jerks as they ascend, the ceiling lamps an octave of long fluorescent bars blinking out of phase, like the visual effect of a melody. The song is strange and dizzying as Trinity watches it from below, offering her neck as Neo trails with his mouth from chin to collarbone. He moves lower, enjoying the low dip of her top, burying his face between her breasts. She caresses the back of his head in soothing circles, and he takes his time kissing as far as her clothing will allow, and perhaps an inch or two more. 

And the lights play on. Part of her engineer's mind absently muses if there could be a single mathematical function to describe the fluctuation- there certainly were such expressions for current, voltage, resistance. Could these basic formulas- Kirchhoff's, Maxwell's, Ohm's and the rest- somehow combine with the myriad variables of a particular slot of time to define these seemingly random electrical ebbs and flows? She likes the inherent logic and elegance of such a possibility. She likes it, because she feels like submitting to it. Should she, a redpill, dare to extrapolate that all human behavior – joy, sorrow, anger, lust – is ultimately born of innumerable layers of mathematical laws, she could live with it. What arrogance to think that human beings could be exempt from the deterministic laws which govern the very molecules, atoms, time and space from which they are made. She and Neo didn't choose this. This chose them. The universe- all time, matter and energy- _wants_ this, commands this, gives love like a cosmic gift to its offspring. Who is she, child of stardust, to argue?

Trinity nearly misses their floor, gasping and plunging her hand between the doors just as they are sliding shut again. Feigning reproach, she tells Neo he should be paying more attention, so next time he doesn't get lost. He ignores her completely, blindly wandering along with his face buried in her neck and shoulder, his arms around her waist. Are we there yet? She indulgently replies with a _no_. Three steps later he asks again, Now? _No_. Can't we just hail a cab? Neo, get your nose out of my ear and _pay attention_.

"But it's a perfect fit," he says, as if this were the ultimate test of their compatibility. "I think, you were _made_ for me."

She squirms, his breath and eyelashes tickling the sensitive places around her earlobe, under her jaw. "You feel that?" he asks her, his hands running along the sheer fabric of her clothing, circling over one curve, then another. "It doesn't matter where I touch you. You fit me _perfectly_."

Trinity turns and kisses him while reaching out behind her to press two palms on the chipping red paint on the front door. He grins. "Now? Say _now_. I want to hear you say it."

"Now," she obliges breathlessly, pulling out her key and taking much too long to jiggle it into place. "Now, now, _now…_"

"_Darling."_

"Goddamn it, Neo."

"_Sweetie_?"

"I can still change my mind about this." But she is seized by a great thrill as the lock finally gives in to her twist. The hinges creak open. Neo takes her firmly by the waist and leads her forward with the order, "_March_, you tease. _Now_."

* * *

She never bothers to turn on the lights. It's a blind grope through the door and an impassioned détente against the cold metal as it slams shut. Perhaps a little tactlessly, she asks him to remove his boots before walking across the floor. His hands freeze and the brights of his eyes gleam in the dark. _You're kidding me, right?_ She bites her lower lip. "Sorry. But I just swept. The floor being made of dirt, you can see the problem." 

The comment (which may or may not have been a joke), is caught, swallowed and returned in a gasp against her lips, and the boots come off faster than she would have thought possible. Her sandals follow, and they stagger forward in each other's arms, nearly tripping more than once. Through the foyer, through the kitchen, against the dining table. Somehow, she is sitting on top of it, her legs around his waist. Soft fingertips return to play along her spine, and Trinity is certain that she has never felt anything more erotic. His touch is honest, uncertain, inquisitive. She rests her head on his shoulder. His loops and circles are too gentle, almost tickling, and yet anything more daring would ruin the intimacy. She bites gently into his neck, then harder, panting even though they are hardly moving. He lifts her top over her head, and Trinity busies herself with his sweater, though when she gets it off, she is at a loss for where to put it. Perhaps if she just folds it and…

Neo grabs the shirt and tosses it into the dark. Before she can object, he covers her breasts with his palms. He has no plan, that much is clear, but they both know what he will do next. His mouth is like fire on her skin, over her nipples, kissing, and sucking earnestly. She hopes he will leave marks.

When they flow into a tight embrace, his hands slide under her, and he lifts. "Bedroom?" is his gruff request. "Which way?"

Trinity gives him directions, giggling at each near-trip, covering the side of his face in kisses. He backs through a door and it takes her a moment to realize something isn't right. She reaches out and gropes along the wall. A light flickers above the mirror behind her. She says, "No, your _other_ left. This would be the bathroom."

Neo blinks around. "So it is. It's… nice."

They laugh as he sets her down, allowing him to see her properly, in the light. He stares, and tells her she's beautiful, gently tracing a line from neck to clavicle to chest to hip, lingering over the bandage which covers her injury, then down to the band around her waist. She suggestively tugs at his belt, feeling herself smile. She is a little shy, the grin growing wider when he asks her permission, which she gives with a nod, letting him push her skirt over her hips while she pulls his belt through the loops. Trinity hardly recognizes the sweet tone – hers, apparently- that cutely directs his attention to the laundry bin. He frowns, narrows his eyes, and collects her skirt only to deliberately throw it over the shower wall. When her jaw drops in outrage, he kisses her, abruptly ending it to pull his pants off and pitch them in the other direction.

The bastard. That's it. That's the last straw. She grabs him by the back of the neck and attacks him with her mouth, her teeth, gnawing angrily, gasping when he stops her with a caress on the inside of her thigh. He is lingering too close, unimaginably close. She holds her breath. _Do it._ She will not say it out loud – she won't utter the _please_ that her whole body communicates – legs parted just enough, her fingernails digging into his shoulder in anticipation. He hesitates, catches her eye, and then rests their foreheads together. Uncertainly, he cups his palm over the mound of damp fabric. "Yes," she whispers into his ear. "Yes, Neo."

"Trinity…" He strokes with his first two fingers, the other hand on her breast. She nearly screams. And suddenly, they are in each other's arms, middles pressed together. Nothing matters now but the sensation, how hard he is, how wet she is, and the rhythmic rubbing of two layers of fabric. It's force of habit. It's ludicrous. They seem to realize the utter idiocy of the situation at the same moment, and in the time it takes her to wrap a leg around his waist, he has freed himself and moved the narrow band of her panties aside, pinning her with his pelvis against the wall. The motion itself is effortless, too easy to accomplish something so fundamentally significant. It's almost as if it happened by accident. Neither of them could have imagined it like this. She sinks down, off her the tips of her toes, and they're connected, looking into each other's eyes – they can't speak, and for a moment, they can't move, either. Everything falls away.

He tells her that he loves her, placing a slight emphasis on the second word. And she says it back in exactly the same way, as if she'd been the first to speak. There is kissing, and a moment of adjustment, but to hold off any longer would be impossible, or require the mastery of some kind of tantric art. She steadies herself, bracing a foot against the opposite wall of the tiny lavatory, one hand on the edge of the sink, and they make love standing up, which Neo would later confess to have never done before in his life. Nor did he ever expect to, or even particularly _want_ to, thinking the whole thing too kinky for someone like him. But with her, he doesn't give it a second thought- in fact, at that moment, it seems like the only _sane_ thing to do.

Just as it _seems_ sane to Trinity when they find their way to the bedroom, to conclude their lovemaking on top of her perfectly folded piles of clothing. To be pushed against the wall proved too painful for her to endure for long, though they only stopped on Neo's insistence. For her part, Trinity found that she enjoyed the pain; it galvanized her and grounded her simultaneously. So she is impatient as she pushes piles off the bed, ignoring whatever glib comment might be coming from her lover. Shut up and make love to me. He slides his fingers into her, then his tongue, which is wonderful but not at all enough. _Make love to me._

She positions herself on her hands and knees, separating her elbows until her face is in the pillows. She closes her eyes and waits, and hears him say her name in a tone of disbelief.

Because he has never seen a woman's body displayed so magnificently before. The explicitly sexual pose shows-off her lithe, feline figure with neither modesty nor shame. The word is _proud_. Her bottom is sweetly exposed, endearingly vulnerable to him, as she arches her back. He massages her buttocks and squeezes her thighs – everything taught, everything toned- then slides his fingers through her folds, and over his penis. He finds no resistance, only a hot, snug welcome, and he sets the pace by the sounds she makes – low, rounded _oooh's _at each thrust, with the intonation rising in the middle, as in a baffled question. At the end, she cries out something in blissful abandon that he doesn't understand. Perhaps not words at all, or perhaps lost to his own release, which comes too soon – exhaustion weakens his stamina. He'd apologize if he thought she were the least bit unsatisfied - but it is what it is and neither of them would change a thing. The universe is good and benevolent. It conjures something wonderful for them, a chemical potion to dazzle and transform the body that it has spent hundreds of years evolving, refining, destroying and rebuilding. Existence has been dreaming up love, or something very much like it for eons, and yet this is just for them to have together; it is somehow unique; it is somehow undiminished by the many who have come before them, and the many who will surely follow.

So he fills her. He fills her with himself, pouring in forcefully, nearly painfully. Neo grasps her hip with one hand and braces the other palm at the apex of the stone arc above his head. He yells at her, whimpers to her, her own name and other monosyllabic exclamations of joy, as a shudder travels up his spine. His pulse pounds in his ears. It's too much, and then too little. But it can't be over. He is out of breath, spent, and slowly softening. He doesn't want it to be over. Trinity doesn't move to separate them; he watches her breasts heaving in a labored pant. She turns her head and brushes hair out of her face. Perspiration shines on the ivory sculpture of her back. She reaches her hand out towards him, and he takes it. When gravity wins the battle, they fall together in a heap over covers, clothing, and pillows.

They don't speak. He rolls onto his back as she rests her head on his chest. After several minutes Trinity sits up and tosses a few scattered sweaters and socks aside to find a blanket folded at the foot of her bed. They tangle together anew in the threadbare sheets.

He is drifting out, falling backwards into nothingness, when he hears her voice come from neither here nor there. "I love you," she says. "I love you, Neo,_ my hero_."

* * *


	34. CHAPTER TWENTYSEVEN

* * *

_**The Last Exile, Chapter 27  
Eleven bullets in the gut, but it was that kitchen table that finally landed him in the hospital**_

_**  
**_

* * *

**Zion, circa 2199.**

The morning passes by without them, languid like smoke settling across a marble floor. The air is still and hot. Wakefulness weaves in and out, small islands of near-consciousness that he can hardly separate from sleep. Her lips press on his chest in strings of pearl kisses, and he threads her hair through his fingers. She might say something – his name, a phrase of endearment?- as she arches and curls around him into a new configuration of limbs, blankets and clothing, but it is lost forever, like so many of his dreams. He wants to respond, but Neo is vaguely aware that he is too heavy; his muscles cannot yield to his desire to move, yet his mind is dizzy, light, and loose. Somehow, he sees himself from above, holding her close and safe, a man with a home, secure and therefore able to provide. It is a strange weave of protectiveness and an imprecise notion of domestic responsibility that tells him to pull her closer. But he cannot act; the mind and the body are separate in this nebulous limbo, making him uncomfortable and anxious, stubborn to succumb to the exile of rest.

She is awake, too, if only barely, touching him everywhere and murmuring in his ear, something melodious but indistinct. He hardly knows what's happening before she takes him in her hands, playfully at first, then properly – nearly expertly – dissolving his torpor in firm, solid waves. He hums, eyes closed, until a gasp is pulled from his throat. Liquid fire. Her tongue traces a line along the underside of his penis. Heat pools in deep, almost lazy kisses – _here_…_there_… now _here _again… mercilessly unrushed, almost casual. When he can take no more, they make love sleepily on their sides, his chest pressed against her back, his outside leg bent over her hip. Their skin sticks together, sweaty in the heat as he fondles her breasts and follows her hands as she touches herself, then lets him suck on her fingertips. It's slow and gentle rocking, inconclusive, semi-conscious, at times motionless. He isn't so sure he isn't dreaming it- though he doubts his own creativity. His unconscious could never invent something so wonderful.

It might be minutes or years later when his eyes open again, and Trinity is sleeping with her knees drawn up to her chest, as a child would sleep. She cuddles a pillow, smiling faintly, her sharp features rounded by the muted light of a desk lamp that flickered on hours before. Neo watches her for a long time, caressing her under the covers, over every place that betrays her femininity and softness. She is transformed, but he thinks the change is entirely in himself. He wasn't really a man before this, he was barely even alive. He thought he didn't know how to love, he thought he must lack some kind of genetic prerequisite for romancing women. But what they've done… what has passed between them required no effort, innovation, or aptitude on his part. He simply doesn't know any other way to be with her. What they have is as natural, as awesome, as biologically fundamental as birth.

When his mouth finds its way to her lips, she welcomes him by kissing back, rolling over to pull his face towards her breasts. _Well, good morning_ _to you, too, Trin_. They entwine, and her scent mixes with that of bedwarmth and fresh laundry. He burrows deeper, lower, following his curiosity down to her tummy, tickling around her navel with his tongue. In the blanketed shadows he is able to see what was abstract and mysterious the night before. Now it's real, textured, detailed- the deep curve of her waist, the startling whiteness, a sickle-shaped birthmark above a triangle of raven curls. He traces his fingers over a pattern which adorns the left hollow of her hipbone. "You have a tattoo," he observes, pushing the sheets back to study the design more clearly.

"Mm-humm." She plays her fingers across his shoulders, not yet fully awake, her voice heavy and smooth. "You like that?" she purrs.

Neo grins onto her skin, at the intersection of three interlocked pointed ovals – a small triquetra inked in black to symbolize her namesake. "It suits you."

"I didn't choose it. I don't even remember getting it. Goddamned…bastards… _hazed me_." He finds his way back up in time to see her eyes flutter open. "The army doesn't go easy on the _girls_," she says.

"Tell me about it."

She gives him a strange look, and then laughs. "Oh, Neo, you're not a girl. You're… my _Lady_."

"What!" he objects. "No, that isn't what I meant. I meant, _tell me about it._ About the tattoo, for God's sake." Though it is wonderful to see her laugh, "Oh, shut up."

Trinity does no such thing, keeping her lips curled in an impish grin. She says, "I broke the record for the jump test. The tattoo was… a _gift_ of _esteem_ from my male colleagues. Then they threw me, stark-naked and shit-faced, into the _private_ hot spring of who was then the most influential old bastard on the Council..."

"What _was_ the record?"

"It had been three attempts. I did it in two. In ten years, nobody has ever matched me." She waits for him to correct her. He waits for her to correct herself. They smile. "Until now," she concedes softly.

"Lonely at the top, isn't it?"

"_Tell_ me about it." She chuckles a little, and there is a pause where Neo finds himself searching for words. His first impulse is to flatter. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is when she wakes up – that he is losing himself in her limpid eyes, lopsided hair and throaty voice. He could make love to her again right now – she should know that, too, just in case she is holding back on his account. But mostly, he wants to tell her how good it was for him – last night, and again this morning - that he's never had better. That she's a _genius_… or perhaps simply well-schooled?

Trinity is sitting up and looking through a small cubby hidden in the rock around them. He watches her, realizing that he is enduring his first bout of romantic jealousy – it's surprisingly intense, considering he doesn't know exactly whom he is jealous _of_. A phantom ex-lover (or lovers?) – anyone who has touched her before him. But surely, not the way he has. No, not anything like that.

"I've been saving this stuff for a special occasion," she says, carefully rolling some dried leaves to a thin cigarette, then sealing both ends. "You won't have anything this good around the city anymore. Not among soldiers, anyway."

Apparently, she didn't return from her ill-fated scavenge empty-handed. She sold some of it, she says, to buy herself a nice little cave, out of the military barracks, which are some of the worst living conditions in the city. She gestures around. You like it? This is how a Zionist drug dealer lives. Well, not really. She has to admit, she gave most of her stuff to the orphans for free.

Neo chokes on his first drag. "_What_?"

"The orphanage and hospitals distill the leaves to make certain medicines," she says dryly, taking the smoke and inhaling deeply, leaning her head back as she savors it. "They're starved for funds and plagued with pretty much everything else. Fucking embarrassment. They'd be better off in the pod. I'd send them back if I could."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that."

"Oh, well… things here are… complicated."

Trinity gives him the rest and stretches out like a cat, reaching up to touch the rock above them. She musses her hair, and shudders to suppress a yawn. "That'll help with your headache."

"How do you know I have a headache?"

"You do, don't you?" She kneels behind him and rubs his shoulders, beginning a massage that is far from tender. It is an effort no to cry out and jump away. "And muscle pain. It's too many _imaginary_ workouts. We need to get you to the gym."

The thought of physical exertion worsens the dull ache in his limbs – it throbs all the way to the bone. "I like my men _ripped_," she whispers. "So they can keep up with me."

"You're disappointed so far?"

Her breasts press into his back as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. "It was wonderful." She kisses his neck and squeezes him tightly. "But we're just starting. It's just the first time. I'll never have my fill, Neo. Not of you."

* * *

She sends him for a shower, resisting the temptation to join him in favor a few moments of solitude. Neo gingerly picks her skirt and his pants out of the bathtub and hands them over. "What the _hell_ are these doing in here," he wonders with a mock outrage. "Don't you have a laundry bin?" 

She hits him and sets the clothing to soak in the sink. The bathroom is nothing compared to the bedroom. And later, when she drifts into the kitchen for coffee, Trinity finds his sweater in her boiling pot. Still naked, she slips it over hear head and smells him in the cuffs. Feels him in the warm weight of the fabric. Hears him singing in the shower.

_She's the real thing  
__The real thing  
__Even better than the real thing…  
__Child_

She smiles and shakes her head. _Idiot_. As if he can hear her thoughts, he sings louder, and further off-key. She tidies up their mess, and then starts on some breakfast, though it is already past noon. Her answering machine is filled with messages, condolences from other crews and Zionist friends. She stands at the stove with her steaming coffee and presses play, listening to the tape as she distracts herself with other things. There are a few baskets and notes outside her door – fresh bread, herbs, nuts, worry beads and mourning dolls. She sets the food on the table, though she isn't sure she'll be able to eat it. But it would be sinful to waste, and somehow wrong to give it away. So she finds a pan and simmers the mix in some water and carefully toasts the flatbread. It'll be nice for Neo to try it, after all he's been through.

So she is only passively listening to the succession of solemn voices playing over the crackling speaker of her answering machine when one message catches her attention. Not words, as her mind refuses to absorb them. It's the voice- the cadence and tenor, the rhythm of the sentences that is as unmistakable as it is impossible. She cuts her finger on a butcher's knife and swears, shaking it vigorously in the air as she hits the replay button.

_Trinity. It's me. If you're there, pickup. _

She hasn't heard the man's voice in nearly a decade and he introduces himself with an _it's me._

_I probably shouldn't be calling. But they said you'd been hurt. They said… they're saying a lot of things. I had to call. I had to know you were okay. Listen, listen to me… I want to talk to you, in person. Please call me. But don't call the office. My private number is-_

Trinity erases the message before Daniel can finish, and leans back against the counter, her first two fingers pressed to her lips. She scowls and shakes her head, flummoxed at his timing. It is as if he can sense she has been thinking of him. How uncanny that she'd just been telling Neo about the swimming pool- what was it? Ten minutes ago? That hot spring had been the private Jacuzzi of Daniel's father, and after her comrades took her clothes and tossed her in, the councilman's seventeen-year-old son chased them away with an armful of rocks. Then he dove in to 'save her.' That's how they met. He thought she was drowning. She thought he was an upper class asshole who wanted to corner her until the police arrived. It didn't help she was drunk. It certainly didn't help that she was naked. She remembers bits and pieces only - that the water was steamy and sizzling, like hot champagne. She remembers he tried to rescue her with his eyes closed to preserve her dignity. She remembers it was like a hapless game of Marco Polo, and that when he finally caught her, she took a swing at him, missed, and fell into his arms.

In eight years she has scarcely thought of it. But it seems fate is determined to remind her.

"What's burning?"

"Oh, damn it." She rushes to the stove and flips the flatbread, which is charred black. She shakes her makeshift stir-fry. "Sorry. I'm… I'm a terrible cook."

"You're Martha Fucking Stewart." Neo is fresh and wet, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind. He kisses behind her ear and then pokes the tip of his nose inside. She squirms, and he chuckles. "Mmm. I'll have a Spanish omelet with bacon. Cream cheese on my bagel. Pulp in my orange juice… and a chocolate Pop Tart."

"Oh, stop… please…" She shuts her eyes and giggles as he laps at her earlobe like a dog. "Don't remind me of what I'm missing!"

"You're bacon me not to, hm?"

"Neo!"

"Oh I'm sorry, muffin. That was hamming it up a little. But breakfast puns are just… too easy. One could even say they're…"

"They're over-easy?"

He laughs and kisses her properly on the lips. "Yes. Exactly that. They're over-easy. You're getting good at this."

"Hm-hum. We're quite the pear. Orange you impressed with me?"

This seems to spark something in him, and the stir-fry is very nearly burned, too. They share it out of the pan, and eventually lapse into feeding each other, though they both agree that this is 'too much,' and they should be ashamed of themselves.

"Nobody has to know," he says, offering her another spoonful, his free hand cupped underneath. She opens her mouth, and he kisses her instead. "_So gullible_."

"Neo, please, I've…"She thinks about it, and realizes something as she feeds him a forkful of charred breakfast._ "…I've never done this before. _Hold still."_  
_

_The One laughs, and leads her to the table, pulling her into his lap. "I'll be good," he promises, bending their sporks into the proper shape. His eyes – promising of boyish mischief – are innocent and charming, playful and challenging, eager yet casual, as if they'd been doing this their entire lives. Trinity takes her utensil with a knowing smile, recognizing this as an extension of their game. She kisses, and caresses playfully as he feeds her, gratified by his growing excitement, warmly pressing against her thigh. It's the laughing and whispering that drives the tempo of her heart forward, that brings about more fervent lovemaking, which moves from his chair to the kitchen table in a fit of mindless passion, untold joy, and superior lack of coordination. _

_That is to say, of course, Everlasting Love. _

* * *

-13-

Maybe it isn't necessary to mention that that particular encounter ended with our falling off the table. Because up until that point, Trin, it was damn romantic.

_Look on the bright side. Who else can boast to have seen Zion's prison and hospital within 24 hours of his first visit? _

It certainly wasn't our best night, or our best morning- but I don't think I ever loved you quite like that again. I don't think I could, Trinity. I think, I gave you something that night that never came back to me.

_Then I still have it. Yes, I know what you mean, though I don't know how to name it. Only that it has manifested itself as so many things, over many years – courage, joy, strength, sorrow. I suppose I'd call such a thing Potential. I see it in myself. I see it in you. I see it most in Rorie. _

_Beautifully, it propagates. _

* * *

**Zion, circa 2219.**

"Beautifully, it propagates."

Neo reads the last line of their story to her, a mess of hair on his chest, under the covers. "Hmmmm," is his wife's satisfied reply. "I'm a fucking poet."

He covers her head with his hand, over his still pounding heart. "I love you."

"I'll bet you never saw it coming."

"What do you mean?"

"_This_…" She snuggles closer, tilting her head to murmur against his neck. "Marriage… _propagation_."

"Oh, I thought you were talking about that paragraph you snuck in about your ex-boyfriend." He imitates her in a high-pitched, raspy voice, _"Oh, I was so drunk I can hardly remember a thing, but his daddy's pool was like hot champagne!" _

"Yeah. Maybe I should send this page to Daniel so he can fill in the blanks."

Neo gabs the booklet and pins her down, pretending to be enraged as she laughs. They wrestle and kiss and call each other names, then take turns throwing their love story, page by page onto their rack of burning candles. It would have been perfect had Rorie not run in with a bucket of water, screaming _fire!_ on her way in and screaming nothing particularly coherent on her way out.

"Beautifully, it propagates," Neo quotes, still clutching a pillow over the cause of his daughter's terror. "How much you wanna bet this ends up in the book?"

"Or on some therapist's notepad."

"By the way, we need to get our story straight about the computer. She had stuff on there."

Trinity kisses him on her way to the shower. From the bathroom she hollers, "I say we blame a carelessly opened email, and then get her something extra special for her birthday."

* * *


End file.
